All Dogs Go to Heaven: Charlie's Second Chance
by Shalion
Summary: It's been a few months since Charlie got his life back in San Francisco, but its not as he planned. He begins slipping back into his old habits, straining his realationsip with David and Sasha, getting involved with the mob, and endangering his very soul.
1. A Rosy Sunrise

All Dogs Go To Heaven: Charlie's Second Chance

A Fan Fiction by Robert Schettig

_*Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the characters or plot items used in this story. This is a work of fiction for entertainment purposes only and is not licensed to the author or any readers thereof._

Chapter One

Charlie looked out over the San Francisco bay from a broken window of a little used warehouse down by the wharf on the east side of town. He crossed his paws and watched the sun rise over the purple fog-shrouded hills across the water in the distance; it seemed that he came here a lot nowadays. He heaved a sigh and dropped his head to the ground, bunching the fur on his neck around his large ears.

Time took on a funny stretching quality as Charlie B. Barkin starting drifting into one his frequent naps, but not quite. He heard something on the cusp of the very definition of sound that stopped his brain from its normally over eager drive to nap. The sound, which was not really a sound, was like the ringing of some sort of delicate bell, except the tone was even and steady and also unearthly sweet. Charlie had heard that sound before and he groaned in his not-quite-sleep.

The German shepherd mix was sure that his eyes were at least half open, but what he wasn't sure of was whether the vision that now appeared before him was real or only fabricated in his mind's eye, probably some grey area in-between. In any respect, before the prone, almost-sleeping hound now stood a tall whippet with bright pink fur and feathery wings that stretched down past her hips; as if that costume wasn't enough, she also glowed softly, shadows evaporated from her presence and hid in dark corners in mortal fear of the heavenly light.

"…Annabel…" Charlie groaned, he wasn't sure if his mouth was moving, his paws certainly weren't responding or he would have gotten up and left already. "I wasn't expecting to see you again for another… oh, 19 years and five months."

"Charles, you know I meant 20 years, give or take. It wouldn't be a life if you knew when you would be called back. I'd stop counting the days and enjoy your second chance."

Charlie rolled over, or at least dreamed that he did, and looked up at the inverted whippet, "That's what you and the boys upstairs would like wouldn't you? But it's not so easy not being able to talk anymore. It's all fine and dandy to hand out sunshine and marshmallows and tell people to be happy, but when it comes to the really important things, it's all 'that's how the world is' or 'there will be dire consequences.' Well I say you can take your well wishing and shove it right up your a˗" Charlie choked on the last word of his tirade, arch-angels were so damn proper not even _other _people's indecencies could exist in their presence.

It was then that Annabel got that so-sad and heart melting face of hers on. "Charles, we already talked to you about this. Dogs aren't supposed to talk to humans. You're not an angel anymore… that's supposed to be a good thing." Charlie fumed in silence. To him the angelic whippet was a symbol for everything that had gone wrong with his dream life in the last few months.

Finally he said, "It's still not fair, to me, to Sasha… to David. It's gotten so I hardly know the kid anymore. And Sasha…" Charlie's face relaxed in a more sentimental way that was typical for the large shepherd mix, "She hasn't been the same since. She really cared for him."

The pink furred angel stood firm, "What you thought you had between David is not how a relationship with a human is supposed to be. It's un˗"

"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time." Charlie curled up with his back to the glowing apparition.

The pink angel moved closer and crouched, placing her delicate head upon Charlie's thick, muscle bound neck. "Charlie, I came here today because I've been watching you." He rolled his eyes; a heavenly invasion of privacy was not his idea of being concerned or caring. "I know that you have been organizing gambling rings at the Flea Bite behind Sasha's back. I also know that you plan to create a casino once you have collected enough funds."

Charlie snorted, "I don't see how that's any of your business and I know you can't tell Sasha about any of it, just in case that was a subtle threat."

The pink furred, canine arch angel stood up, indignified, "Charles, don't presume to know what I am and am not capable of."

Charlie looked up at her from the floor, cocking his head and stared at her straight on, "Really, Annabel? You're not even here right now. You're just a spook, a spirit, a ghost, and the only reason I can even see you now is because I was the same way not too long ago."

The whippet's form flickered momentarily at the wave of disbelief and purely material _Truth_. She surged forward, her inner light briefly outshone the rising sun, "Charles, listen to me! Things are changing in Heaven, policies are being rewritten. You are endangering your place in the afterlife."

Charlie sat up, or rather, the idea of himself sat up, this was the first interesting thing the whippet had yet said. He asked, "What do you mean? All dogs go to Heaven, right?"

Annabel turned her snout to the side, an amazingly forlorn look on her face, "That won't be the case anymore very shortly. Look." She raised a paw and produced a small diamond and gold pin from midair. From a star shaped cut blue diamond emerged flanking wings of gold, Charlie's princely award for thwarting the plans of a powerful demon last year. Annabel had promised to keep it safe for him until his eventual return, but it looked different now. Whereas before, the diamond had had a radiant heavenly glow, even the wings had shined, now it looked stained and hardly glowed at all; in fact, it looked like it had been left out in the rain for a few days.

"It's becoming tarnished by your actions, Charlie." Annabel explained. "If you don't polish it, it'll eventually wear away, and then you'll have nothing to protect you."

Always literal minded, Charlie reached out his paw to take the charm, "Well give it 'ere, I'll have that thing shining in a few minutes." His paw passed through charm as easily as smoke and Charlie was left looking dumbly at his pads.

"It can only be polished by good deeds and kind thoughts." Said the arch-angel. She lowered her paw and the angelic pin vanished.

"Ugh…" Charlie moaned, more wishy, washy Heavenly nonsense. "Why is this happening now, Annabel? What would happen if my pin disappeared? Don't tell me..." His jaw gaped as a brief vision appeared in Charlie's mind: a lake of lava, a sinking ship, a tooth filled maw laughing…

The pink whippet nodded sadly, "Yes Charlie, you would be exposed to that danger once again. As for why it is happening… why you're directly involved."

Charlie brought both his forepaws to his chest, "Me?! What do I have to do with any heavenly policy changes?"

"Charles, you delivered an irreplaceable celestial artifact into the hands of a powerful demon who then nearly claimed all of heaven's canine souls, including myself, for his master."

Charlie gulped, but then stuck out a claw, "Well… yeah, but then I kicked his… err… butt afterwards and saved everyone, including David and Sasha."

"Yes and everyone recognizes your accomplishments, but this also has to deal with souls like Carface Carruthers who stole the horn in the first place." Again her eyes grew a bit distant as she said, "It has been decided that this sort of thing cannot be allowed to happen again. The High angels and even the Metatron himself are busy applying more stringent requirements for canines and several other species for entering Heaven… sort of the way we handle cats."

"_Cats?!_" said Charlie, spitting out the word, "We aren't anything like those paw-licking, sand-scratching, stuck up, backstabbing, f˗" Charlie had a sudden coughing fit.

"I know, Charles. It's… sad, the way things have gone. But I agree that what happened last year shouldn't be allowed to happen again. We just can't let everyone be at risk… even if it means losing some souls."

The shepherd, who was always keen on reading body language, particularly that of females, said, "You don't think that this is a good idea, do you?" It was a statement, not a question.

Annabel's eyes turned back to Charlie, her unreal pink irises flashed with illumination. She nodded.

He went forward and laid his neck against her slender one, despite her incorporeal nature, in this half-dream, he could feel her as sure as the floor. Her fur was as light as air, her skin unearthly smooth; to touch her seemed to corrupt and dirty with his own imperfection, to break her delicately designed features, but it did not; she was indeed a lot stronger than she looked for all the pomp and fluff.

A diamond tear crystallized on Annabel's muzzle, "Oh, Charles, we would lose so many souls, including all of those who are special like you." She pushed the larger canine back onto his hind feet with surprising ease, "Just losing you would pain me to no end…" She dropped her eyes and… was it possible that her pink cheeks were growing just a shade more flush?

"I remember that dance we had Charles, way back when." Her laughter sounded like distant chimes, "I know you were just conning me, like you con everyone in one way or another, but still, I had never felt so, so _alive_ again. Your passion for the crude, crass, dirty things here on earth… it was inspiring."

Charlie wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or insulted. He said, "Well, I promise you that I am _not_ going back to… the _other_ place." He got a shiver up his spine just thinking about it.

"Will you think about what I told you then?"

Charlie raised his paw in the air, "I promise I will definitely think about it."

"Charles, I'm serious." Said Annabel, cocking her slender head.

Charlie deliberately let his tongue loll out the side of this snout, "I am too, you can count on me, Annabel." He even threw in a few tail wags.

The arch angel smiled, "All right. By the way, I have a surprise for you."

Charlie perked his ears in honest interest.

"You'll know what it is in a few days. Until then, have a good life, Charles." After her last words, Annabel turned to face the broken window. Her wings unfolded and at their tips spread a luminescent pink sphere around the whippet's body. The glowing ball shrank, along with the whippet until only a brilliant pink mote remained. The delicate glowing spark bobbed on the air for a few moments before floating out the window…

Charlie woke up, it was like hitting the bottom of a pool after sinking for an unusually long period of time, and Charlie was extremely familiar with the sensation. He gasped, opened his eyes and started, drool still dripping from where his jowls had rested on the wooden planks, his heart raced. He rubbed his aching head in his paws for a minute or two, these "visions" always took more out of him than the time he spent sleeping recuperated.

The large black and tan dog stretched in the shadows of the loft, the sun was now high enough that the beams did not fall directly into the room. Charlie licked the fuzz off his teeth and took a last look out the window. As if to confirm that everything he had experienced was, in fact, real, the face of the pink whippet appeared in one of the larger shards at the bottom of the frame. She mutely pointed to the dingy angel pin in her paw. A phrase echoed in Charlie's mind against his will, "Have a good life, Charles… A _Good _life…" Charlie shook his head and jogged out of the semi-abandoned warehouse. All of a sudden he felt like he could use a good drink…


	2. Sleight of Paw

Chapter Two

The rolling hills of San Francisco beckoned to the ruffle coated shepherd as he climbed out of a broken window on the second story of the warehouse and hopped onto a pile of stacked iron bars. He breathed the crisp morning air tinged with the salt of the Pacific and then took off at a run up a green hill too steep and too close to the pier for houses. His heart thudded in his chest and his breath came out as white vapor that whipped into his eyes; it was good to be alive. Up and over he went and at the bottom of the hill streets and closely packed houses stretched as far as the eye could see. Charlie ducked through a backyard and onto the street proper. He was perfectly at home among the cars and the exhaust fumes and the litter; the city was his jungle and Charlie Barkin was its king. Thus the onetime gangster and still time conman made excellent time back to his home and none noted his passing besides the ubiquitous pigeons and rats of the city.

Charlie trotted west to the northern boundary of the Tenderloin, the seedier part of San Francisco, and turned his snout north to Russian Hill. A few streets south of Broadway and to the west of Chinatown, the young shepherd found a typical three story house crammed between two others with no gap in-between as was typical in San Francisco. He climbed the steps and pushed his way in through the dog door. He had time to give a great yawn, his lean, lithe body drained for his run and his mental/spiritual encounter less than an hour ago, before he had the wind knocked out of him.

"Charlie!" shouted the prepubescent voice of the young male who now had an iron clad grip on the big shepherd's neck.

"Hey kid." Charlie said before he could help himself.

A smile warmed David's in blissful ignorance and Charlie knew that he had heard only his bark, and his spirit sank for the knowledge. David stroked the top of his head, bending down his ears and then rubbed either side of his shoulders a few times before rising to his feet. David's parents gabbed from the kitchen and the boy walked away, grabbing his backpack from beside the door. Charlie couldn't understand the words they said either, it was an effort to retain the few human words, like his own name, that he had painstakingly memorized. They sounded wrong to his ear now that he was alive again and tended to slip from his mind as quickly as eels from a fishing net. The lack of divine providence effectively made his closest human friend since Anne Marie into a stranger.

As a rise in uncharacteristic and deeply hidden emotions threatened to drown the old con artist, the one other person to whom he had devoted his heart waltzed down the narrow steps before him with her usual grace and cantor. Her long elegant legs and full bushy tail never failed to capture his attention, but it was her eyes he found himself most drawn towards; their soft green color reminded him of the sea and like the sea, she could be calm and sweet in one moment, fierce and treacherous in the next… Charlie wouldn't have it any other way.

The red furred saluki brushed the side of her head against Charlie's in greeting and he was overwhelmed by her soft, feminine scent. He breathed deeply of it, consumed it as if it were satisfying some long forgotten thirst.

"Are you listening to me?" said Sasha indignantly.

Charlie could only cock his ears and utter, "Huh?"

Sasha growled under her breath and rolled those lovely green eyes of hers. Charlie bit his tongue between two prominent canines to concentrate. "I asked you where you've been all morning. David was worried sick looking for you."

Charlie spoke more bitterly than he meant to, "And how exactly would you know that?"

"Because when he woke up, he went into every room of the house and then up and down the block shouting…" A look of mutual hurt passed between them, but the ways in which the two canines expressed that hurt did not allow for translation. "You don't have to understand what he says to feel that he was upset."

Charlie turned his snout away and frowned.

Sasha spoke again with more anger in her voice than hurt, "What I _don't_ understand is why you leave every night. Why won't you tell me where you're going? And why were you so late today? You're always back before his alarm goes off."

Charlie took a deep breath and sent it back whistling through his large teeth. "It's… complicated."

Sasha opened her mouth ready to unleash a new wave of rebukes when David ran back out of the kitchen. He grabbed both of them, laying his palms on their heads, and brought them close on either side of his chest. He spoke, but Charlie could only catch his and Sasha's names a few times, as well as the word "School." Seeing a way out of his dire conversation with Sasha, Charlie jumped playfully on David's back after he had secured his backpack, pushing him against the wall and barking. The boy's laughter lightened Charlie's spirits as he pushed him away and gestured frantically at the door. David exited the house and Charlie followed jovially at his side. Sasha walked just a little behind on David's other side and the German Shepherd heard her mutter, "This isn't over, Charlie Barkin." Charlie could only laugh as he walked David to school.

Charlie wasn't the kind of mutt to think far ahead, thus it was to his honest surprise when, after seeing David safely to his school, Sasha cut in front of him, stopping him dead in the street, and grabbed the scruff of his neck with her sharp teeth.

"Ah, ouch!" Charlie exclaimed as she dragged him liberally through a hole in a neglected wooden fence and into an abandoned yard. With one last yank, she released him and Charlie sat back on his haunches, rubbing his neck and thankful for his thick fur and ample loose skin around his neck.

"What's gotten into you?" Charlie asked as Sasha turned round to face her. He could not suppress the growl in his voice, but he still regretted it when he saw the expression on her face.

"You're going to tell me everything, buster!" She said as she jabbed a claw tip into Charlie's chest. "Where you've been going, what you've been doing, everything!"

Charlie grimaced, his criminally trained eyes looking to the trees, the cars, even the garbage for some means of escape from this situation, but it seemed that his constant dodging of the truth over the last couple months had finally landed him in too deep a pit to leap from. He looked down and sighed. Really it had all been to protect her. Charlie didn't want her to be concerned with his problems, but… a bite on the neck and a claw in his chest really had a way of persuading him towards her way of thinking.

Gulping down his reservations, Charlie said, "Oh… Alright. I'll tell you…" He took a deep breath, and then another… and then another.

"Will you get on with it?" She asked, but Charlie could tell that the worst of her fury had already been blown out.

Rolling his eyes, Charlie blurted, "I can still see spirits, Okay?"

For the first time so far in the encounter, Sasha appeared to be at a loss for words. After a moment's hesitation, she asked, "You mean like when you were an angel?"

Charlie nodded solemnly. "Yeah, just this morning, in the warehouse where I go to watch the sun rise... and think about things, that pink whippet you saw back on Alcatraz contacted me… rather forcefully. That's why I was late."

Now it was Sasha's turn to look away and reflect. In a more tender voice than she had yet used all morning she spoke, "I… understand how that can be hard for you." Now she sidled close to him, the longest hairs of their respective coats reached out longingly towards each other. She shook her head, "But you don't have to go through it alone. I'll always be there for you."

"But you shouldn't have to." Charlie exclaimed, "It shouldn't be something either of us should have to deal with, but they just won't leave me alone. And now Annabel drops this big load on me like she expects me do something about it." Charlie turned away from Sasha and breathed deeply trying to calm himself. Sasha brushed up against him and put her head under his jaw. "It isn't fair." He muttered. "We have our own lives; that should be enough to worry about."

Sasha just smiled and licked under his jaw in a show of affection, and Charlie was extremely grateful that she didn't press him for details.

Eventually the two lovers left the abandoned lot and made their way back to their modest, yet comfortable home. Charlie had to stop himself from prancing with joy. He'd gotten away with it again.

***

Later that evening, Charlie sneaked out of David's house after his "owner" and Sasha were sound asleep; the flap of the dog door was the only sound that announced the passing of his roguish paws.

Out on the street, things were quiet for the most part, but like most major cities, there was never any true quiet. Light traffic flowed down the streets, even a few humans were out and about, but typically, they were of the less than genteel sort. Luckily, Charlie was a city dog through and through and knew how to handle himself on the treacherous streets of one of America's most heavily populated cities. Slipping into shadows felt as natural as a duck sliding into water. He walked briskly, running attracted too much attention, and kept to the back alleys and side streets as much as possible. While he hadn't had time to fully master San Francisco's wild hilly terrain, he was a fast learner and had at least learned all the best short cuts on the route from David's house to his now favorite haunt, the Flea Bite.

Seven months ago, when Charlie had been of a significantly more… insubstantial persuasion, the Flea Bite had attracted his eye for its sheer crass, low budget and tacky style and for the less than well-to-do cliental. It was an entirely dog run dive for anyone with the cash or meat on paw to buy a drink and a seat in front of the stage. As opposed to New Orleans, Charlie quickly found, dog run establishments were a rarity in a city were literally all the land was occupied from shore to shore. There were no large areas of abandoned buildings and lots, no derelict apartment complexes or even old rotting show boats, and certainly nothing as safe and secure as swamp to escape into if the heat was on. No, the Flea Bite was not a successful bar by any of Charlie's standards, but it was virtually the only one around and that had to count for something.

Certainly, the Flea Bite's absence of prestige was not due to any lack of customers. It was a Friday night and dogs ranging from strays to pampered pets out for an entertaining night were waiting in line to get in, but of course, lines didn't exist for people like Charlie B. Barkin.

The scruffy looking shepherd mix sauntered down the thin alley around the back of a low run liquor store in the bowls of the Tenderloin like he owned the place. Dogs lined up sneered at him as he passed without a second glance backward. Here was the scum of the city, his friends in low places. He passed a pit-bull who was obviously a dog fighter, scars layered his shoulders and the base of his docked tail; he had only half an ear on one side, the other was totally gone. Another Charlie passed on his way to the front was a stray terrier of some sort, she had fleas so bad that her hair was falling out from the mange; yes the Flea Bite attracted all sorts. At the front of the line, two Dobermans guarded the entrance. They sniffed the bottoms of those seeking entry in close inspection, rejecting the weak, the ugly, the sick, the stumbling drunks, and, most undesirable, those without cash. Charlie put a wide grin on his face, and strolled up to the two large canines.

"Bruce! Rosco! How are my two good friends doing tonight? Business looks brisk."

"Oh, no, Charlie." Spoke the smaller, and therefore more intelligent of the pair, "Boss said you ain't t'get any special treatment, not after that stunt two weeks ago. Back o' the line."

The larger one said, "Yeah, da Boss said."

"Hey now, is that any way to greet friends? You know that fire was a complete accident. No one could have known that those wires has such faulty insulation. Anyways, I hear ol' Fred got a fat payment out of the pug who insures the place." Said Charlie walking up before the guard dogs, grinning and keeping a friendly disposition. Charlie was a hard guy to dislike, or at least he liked to think so.

"'E did." Said the smaller one called Bruce, "But there's still the small problem of you robbing the customers blind. T'ain't good for business that. Now, I'm not gonna tell you again, back o' the line." Rosco took a moment and a good deal of concentration to form his face into the proper threatening, yet not quite vicious snarl.

Charlie got up on his hind legs and walked a bit forward, throwing an arm around each of the guards. In each paw materialized with a little slight-of-hand a strip of bacon bought and paid for out of Charlie's own pocket. He artfully tucked each prime and grease dripping piece into the guards' spiked collars. Greasing the wheels never hurt. "Now, like I said we're all friends here. No need to fuss up anything by getting ol' Fred involved eh?"

"I dunno, Charlie." Said Bruce, sniffing the bribe, "He sounded awful sore when he told us last."

Charlie got back down onto all fours, "Hey, it's not like you were going to keep me out anyways. If I waited in line, you'd have to let me in eventually." He flashed his teeth in a warm smile, "You can cut me some slack, right?"

Rosco was a dog whose brain was definitely smaller than his stomach. He nibbled at the end of the thick bacon as he said, "He's got a point, Bruce. We'd have to let him through 'nyways." The bigger Doberman took a big bite out of the slice.

Bruce took his bacon in his jaws, "I suppose we can let you through this time, Charlie. Since we're such good 'friends' and all."

"Ahhh, I knew I could count on you guys." Charlie said as he walked into the smoke hazed bar.

Bruce said behind him, "Don't make me regret this, Charlie, 'else you better learn how to do your fancy card tricks with one paw."

Charlie swished his tail as he walked into the bar proper. It was nothing more than a square of cement and asphalt into which the back doors of the surrounding buildings opened up into; luckily all of these were bolted shut and never used. Old sofas, cars and halves of cars formed the bulk of the furniture available. The bar was the most carefully made and maintained part of the Flea Bite. The terrier at the bar pilfered all of the club's liquor and spirits from his owner's store. A makeshift stage sat opposite the bar, a motorcycle headlight functioned as its sole spotlight. The shepherd noted the numerous electric lights and old neon signs that were strung all over the seating. In 1939, he and Carface paid a princely sum out of their profits to have electric lighting and speakers for their tragically ended riverfront casino. Here, the lights were strung up like popcorn. The microphones were smaller and lighter and the old junk cars that the dogs now used as bedding were top of the line last time Charlie was in the flesh. The world had changed a lot in the 45 years the old conman had spent penned up in the ultimate cooler.

At the moment, however, he was more interested in the tables in the darker corner of the bar. Seated round them were the closest things he had to friends since coming back from the dead, his gambling partners.

"Hey Charlie, you old bastard. What kept ya?" An obese, grey muzzled Rottweiler that went simply by the name of "Buck" greeted from a green felt table.

"Oh, the family just took a little longer than usual to get to sleep." Said Charlie scratching the back of his head. Showing weakness wasn't a good way to build a reputation, but it was definitely a good way to get his betting partners to lower their guard.

"You needa drop the ball and chain." A voice slurred from another table as Charlie pulled up a stool opposite the heavyweight Buck. Once a guard dog in his prime, Buck was just about as mean as they came and yet, in his golden years he had been taken in by the family of the mansion he had guarded all his life. He was a naturally greedy sort and the past couple years of leisure really showed on his waistline, but with nearly unlimited resources at his paws, he used his money to take even more from his fellow canines.

The drunken comment going unheard, Buck said, "Well, I'm glad you're here. I'm going to get my two fifty back that you stole from me last week."

"Hey now, all's fair in love and cards. I won that money. Besides, I think you could do with couple hundred bucks less in steak, my friend." Said Charlie as he reached for the idle deck on the table.

A knife was planted nary an inch away from Charlie's paw and a young Rottweiler who was a cousin of Buck's made a show of extricating it from the table. Buck's paw reached out for the deck and the stool creaked in protest as he shifted his ample girth.

"I'll be dealing tonight, my friend." His watery brown eyes caught Charlie's for an intense moment and they were anything but soft, "And I think it'd be wise to lay off the fat jokes if you wish to continue being my friend." With that final note, Buck started dealing the cards and naming the rules of the game.

As was unspoken courtesy, several hands were played before conversation actually broke out. Charlie deliberately threw his first two hands, but after the third, the cards seemed particularly unkind to him and he found himself folding again and again. A few bluffs earned him enough to keep afloat from the losses of the other small fry at the table, but really, Buck was Charlie's target for the evening; the only problem was that Buck seemed to have learned many of Charlie's favorite tricks, forcing him to think and invent on the fly. It was a real challenge and Charlie drank it in as much as he did the contents of the mug Gertrude the waitress kept continuously full.

Charlie licked his chops as he stared down his pudgy adversary. He had three pints in him, a pair of jacks in his hand and was looking at a full house on the table; he was feeling good. Everyone else was already out and there was five hundred in the pot. Buck saw his eighty and raised another fifty. The wrinkles around Buck's eyes and his chubby cheeks belayed no expression whatsoever; he was good. Charlie looked at the pot and the chips filled his sight, here, finally was enough to really get his plans into full gear… and yet, Buck seemed so smooth and confident. Could it be that he had something better than a full house? Charlie licked his chops and pushed a hundred dollars worth of chips forward, a fat grin on his face.

The Rottweiler lifted his chin ever so slightly and scratched at the loose skin hanging down from his neck. "So, tell me Charlie. Did you ever organize that rat race like you were boasting about all last month?"

A voice chimed in from outside the tiny world that included only the shepherd and the rottie. "Rat race, pffft, that's old school."

Charlie chuckled, "When you drop those chips, the first one will be ready on Sunday. I already found a place, I got runners and the dough's right here to pay for everything."

The old dog nodded, "You're barking up a thorn bush boy. Careful you don't get pricked." The Rottweiler tossed two green chips into the center of the table to match Charlie's bet; there was now seven hundred dollars in the pot. "Sorry to do this to ya kid, but bringing rat racing to the west coast is going to have to wait. Four-of-a-Kind."

And there on the table, Buck turned over a pair of threes to go with the other pair in the center. Charlie's jaw did not drop, he didn't cringe, he didn't even bat an eye. His mind turned on the edge of a dime. He hadn't meant to cheat, he didn't want to cheat, but there was too much riding on this hand for morals to come into consideration… besides he had borrowed way too many chips to buy into this pot anyways. In a smooth action, his left paw came up from under the table, gently clasping the missing jack from where he had stowed it earlier with a bit of gum; his eight of clubs suddenly became the missing jack even as he turned over the cards.

"You know, Buck" said Charlie as the old rottie's eyes opened wider than he had seen them all night, "In my book, jacks beat threes." Despite his victory, Charlie was wary enough not to immediately take the pot.

Buck's eyes stared challengingly at the taller shepherd dog from under his fleshy eyebrows for a long moment. Finally he let out puff of air that lifted one of his sagging jowls. "Take it."

There was an uproar from the crowd that had gathered without Charlie even noticing. He received numerous slaps on the back and there was so much confusion, the conman was even able to sneak the missing eight back into the deck as his scooped up his winnings. Arms full of chips, Charlie struggled to walk upright on his hind legs to go and cash them.

As he stumbled past Buck, the old dog's thick arm grabbed him suddenly with surprising speed. He spoke quietly into Charlie's ear. "Your races better be spectacular, I'd expect nothing less from a man like you. I'll be watching." The last was said not without a hint of ominous threat.

Despite the grim and subtle warning, Charlie had too much money in his paws and too much beer in him to worry about it. This night had gone better than he ever could have hoped for. Annabel and her warnings could just take a hike. Charlie was going to build a wonderful life for himself and Sasha… oh his dear Sasha. Once he had enough cash, he wouldn't have to lie to her anymore. At least, that's what he told himself.

Copious quantities of alcohol and the country singing of a Yorkshire terrier on the stage proved to be all that was necessary to forget his troubles. Drowned in a tide that was sometimes clear, yellow and pungent, sometimes turbid, brown and heady, Charlie's concerns for the world were lifted and floated away unmissed and unlooked for. Surrounding him were friends on all sides and pretty lasses that he inevitably had to turn away but whose attentions were still not wholly undesirable.

Long after Charlie had stopped keeping track of the drinks he had consumed, he found himself lounging contented on a soft sofa with all the regulars he played and talked with, save Buck who had left rather early on after his major loss at the table. The shepherd dog sat with a dopey grin on his face, taking in the gossip that passed around him.

A small rat of a dog that looked fresh off the boat from Mexico started a new thread of conversation, "Did any of you hear that Don Barayev got whacked last night?"

"What?!" Was the general outcry.

"EEt's true. I'seen it. 'E got jumped in the street by ten dogs." The little dog shook even more than usual, "They was wolves I tell ya's and they moved quick and quiet as ghosts. And theyn as the Don's lying there bleeding to death and all his guards are haveen their throats torn out, a great big guy, a giant, I tell ya's, he pulls out a rifle and blows him away."

"You're full of shit," Said nearby boxer, "Nobody has a gun; the humans keep 'em too close."

"They're too heavy to use anyways!" shouted a random voice.

A mastiff butted in, "Guns are for cowards, if you can't rip out a throat yourself, you don't deserve to win."

"Says the freakishly large dog."

Before the conversation could degenerate into the merits of hypothetical gun use, Charlie managed, with some effort, to get his jaws coordinated enough to ask, "Who's Don Bar'yav, an'way?"

Lots of eyes suddenly turned on Charlie. The boxer asked, "You been under water for the last twenty years, or sometin'?"

Charlie, in his inebriated state could not help snorting. His bones were still probably rotting at the bottom of the Mississippi. "Forty!" he cried.

The mastiff broke the stereotype by being more than a little knowledgeable. He supplied, "Don Barayev has been the head of the Russian mob in this 'ere city for the last fifteen years. There aren't that many of them, but they're counted as a major family anyways, on account as they don't bother with threatening and chasing people around. They just knock your ass over and kill you if you get on their wrong list."

"Lemme guess" Said Charlie, "They run up and down Russian Hill?"

The mastiff's chuckle sounded like distant thunder, "Actually, their turf's further west, The northern part of Pacific Heights."

"Hmmm…" mumbled the drunken canine as he finished the dregs at the bottom of the glass. He swirled the few bubbles at the bottom of his glass as he thought… slowly and more than a little abstractly. "You.. You really think he got whacked?"

"Me? I wouldn't trust the word of that rat as far as I could thr- err… I wouldn't trust what 'e said, no. But we'll know about it soon enough. News like that can't get covered up."

When the night had finally become early morning, Charlie paid Fred a small fee to keep his winnings safe until he could devise a safer means to transport his cash. Charlie, a natural born booze hound, never suffered much of an after effect for his binges. However, he found his head began to throb as his four hour buzz went cold when he finally cut off the flow of fresh liquor. It was soon after this that he took the long lonely hike back to David's house. He went slow, took his time with his eyes on the pavement to keep from stumbling but his ears wide open. He'd first been killed when his old time business partner/mobster Carface got him drunk and senseless, and even now when he had trouble walking in a straight line he was aware that he was vulnerable. He would never let himself be taken advantage of in that way again.

As he slid back into his humans' domicile, overall, he couldn't have been cheerier. He had just had a grand and entertaining evening and his plans were continuing to move ahead at breakneck speed. As Charlie walked up the first flight of carpeted steps, passing portraits on his left the spacious living room and kitchen on his right, the fact that he could have a pleasant enough life here without any money did not escape him. However, as Charlie had decided, almost as soon as his and Sasha's gift with language faded, he couldn't place his absolute trust in these people; he had been double crossed too many times. Sure David was a swell kid, but the fact was that he had only known him for a day, and now he had been robbed of the opportunity to really get to know him. Charlie couldn't jeopardize his and Sasha's future, he needed options. Besides, if nothing went wrong, having David wake up and find a couple extra hundred bucks under his pillow couldn't hurt anything, and it'd be nice to have steaks a bit more regularly. And so Charlie crept back into David's room. The human was as solid as stone and Sasha's slight form was visible to Charlie in the low light as she slept easily beside him on the bed. Not wanting to wake either of them, Charlie settled for curling up on the carpet. It was soft and the house was warm, pure luxury from what he had known on the streets, and yet there was that clinging doubt that ever tugged at him and prevented him from fully relaxing, even into fitful sleep…


	3. Fast and Loose

Chapter Three

Saturday morning was going to be busy for Charlie. First on his long list of things to do was invent a suitable excuse to ditch David and Sasha for most of the day. He blinked open gunk sealed eyes and attempted to lick the sour tasting fur off of his teeth, to little effect. With a scant four hours of sleep, Charlie was really feeling the after effects of last night's binge, but there simply wasn't any room for being lax. New Orleans's favorite and beloved racketeer had a reputation to uphold, or rather recreate here in San Francisco.

But, before anything else, Charlie dashed into the bathroom in the hallway outside David's bedroom and rinsed his mouth thoroughly with mouthwash to cover up the scent of alcohol. Charlie jumped when Sasha scratched at the door. He fumbled with the mouthwash before dropping it neck first into the toilet.

He heard her yawn before saying, "What're you doing, Charlie?" Her paw scratches moved to the doorknob and even as the plunger lowered, Charlie was desperately re-screwing the mouthwash bottle closed. The scene when Sasha dropped down onto her forelegs into the bathroom was of Charlie lapping vigorously at the water in the bowl, which, by now, was an off green and smelled strongly of spearmint.

"Oh, Charlie!"

Charlie expertly played the look of a thief caught in the act, which wasn't hard at all given the circumstances. He even threw in some embarrassed hesitation, "Uhh… hey Sasha."

"Ugh, We've got water dishes downstairs, you know." The red furred beauty shook her head, "Don't you know what the humans do there?"

Charlie managed a weak chuckle even as the awful chemical spearmint taste crashed into the back of his throat, almost making him gag. _Ugh… what length I have to go through just to cover up a night at the bar…_ he thought. However, Charlie said, "I know… it's uhhh… a terrible habit. I… just… couldn't resist this new bowl cleaner they're using." He flashed her his full set of pearly whites.

"Well don't make yourself sick… ugh, yuck, Charlie, and you stink. Worse than normal. Why don't you do the rest of us a favor and dunk your head in there. Maybe you'll smell better…"

Sasha turned and left downstairs. As Charlie was replacing the mouthwash bottle, which he had hid behind the toilet, he froze for a moment. He turned his head around and sniffed his coat deeply, resulting in a fit of snorting. Despite the fact that it now contained half toilet water, Charlie carefully splashed both of his flanks with the bottle before replacing it under the sink.

Downstairs, Charlie, Sasha and the rest of the family enjoyed a hearty weekend breakfast. Aside from the fact that David's baby sister was now experimenting with baby food, which meant that slimy green paste would occasionally fly across the room, the meal was actually very enjoyable. A portion of meaty soft kibble was augmented with leftover and malformed pancakes. Sasha and Charlie grinned at each other over their respective bowls. Typically, Charlie finished his within a few heart beats of the tin hitting the floor (life on the streets taught you quickly to keep food in the only truly safe place, your gut), and then he went to sit beside David at the table. He was a little ashamed to admit that he liked the frequent head rubs from the human child, but he was not ashamed in the slightest at taking bits of bacon secreted to him from the child's plate. Content and full, Charlie laid down under David's chair to rest his eyes momentarily, only to be rudely poked seemingly moments later.

Sasha managed to jab him twice more with her slender, but not weak, paw before Charlie got up, hitting his head on the seat of the chair in the process.

"Aren't you coming with us to Union Square?" She asked as Charlie extricated himself and sat rubbing his sore head between the ears with a free paw; at least he wasn't feeling sleepy anymore.

"Sure, doll, I was just… catching forty winks is all."

"Hmmm…" Sasha looked at the tall shepherd suspiciously but seemed to decide against further prying. "Well come on, David's got your collar."

"Yeah… the collar…" Charlie could scarcely hide the look of disgust on his face.

To a dog who had lived the vast majority of his three years on the streets, wearing a collar was the equivalent of wearing an undersized business suit of bright pink and purple pastels. He wasn't used to its weight, however slight it might be, and he couldn't shake the feeling that dogs were laughing at him behind his back; collars were always the mark of a dog who was _owned_, a spoiled, slow-witted target, often ripe for hustling or extortion (depending on the size) and nothing more. Recent experiences had done much to open the shepherd's once cold and sterile heart, but the dog he once was would always have his mark on him. Thus Charlie shrugged and twisted in the collar all the way to Union Square Park.

The place was a bustling hive of commerce and entertainment, here there were rows of boutiques and over there was actors performing interpretive dance for pocket change. A major tourist destination, Union Square was always busy, especially on a sunny Saturday morning such as this. Charlie himself couldn't help but admire the place, streams of people everywhere, a forest of knees and hips from his point of view. It brought back memories of the French Quarter in New Orleans. Charlie grinned thinking of days long past and the lucrative pick pocketing he had done in concert with Itchy in a place where a human could scarcely keep track of their children, let alone their wallets.

_Itchy… now there was a true friend._ Thought Charlie. The big dog missed him deeply for all his well wishing and stern bravado during their parting. The clever little dachshund was his side kick, his other half really. There hadn't been anything the two of them couldn't get their heads around or accomplish together. Sure they had their differences and their rough patches, but that only made things all the sweeter. Itchy had a way of calming him down, holding him back just enough to think things through a little better, and often that had made all the difference. His caution, his timidity, his unwavering loyalty… even his fleas, Charlie missed him.

Only seven months out from running away for several days, and nearly being swallowed into the depths of Hell, (of course the parents didn't really think much of _that_ part of the story and quickly dismissed it as the meanderings of a young mind in a traumatic experience) David was of course not allowed out of sight of his parents. He _was_ however, allowed to wear his magician's hat and black cape; the kid wanted to practice some new magic tricks for an audience and in Union Square, there was an audience for anything and _everything._ _Yeah, David's a kid who understands _style_. _Thought Charlie, _Style is what separates the thugs from the gentlemen. Substance is overrated, it's how it is presented that matters._ Charlie had to admit that though he had only been just another way to get closer to Sasha when they had first met, the kid had grown on him. _He reminds me of myself at times, _the big dog thought as David mounted a short wall beside the path and walked recklessly down the narrow path, Heh_… just like myself as a pup…_ The memories came bitter sweet however, as he was constantly reminded that the two of them could even share a word between them. All thanks to the arrogant and pompous machinations by the far away and out of touch region given the misnomer, _Paradise_.

Charlie scented the air as the small family walked into the bustling crowd, the scent of so many humans in one spot always got Charlie excited. David's father pushed the cart containing David's newborn sister beside his wife while David was out in front holding Sasha and Charlie's leashes. Charlie couldn't help but pull just a little, he had etched a living pick pocketing from crowds back in New Orleans and the crowds of San Francisco in the mid-80's put the most popular horse races to shame; his days of stealing were over, but the power of the memories the scent evoked was still formidable, even after 45 years in the grave.

David apparently hadn't had time or money to replace it, but there was a trick to getting out of the leash if the rope was kept taught. The latch was an older design which opened inward towards the loop and could be coaxed, with proper twisting and enough pressure, to pop open. Charlie saw his chance when he spotted a flock of pigeons feeding on a stretch of grass. Luckily, Sasha didn't spot the grin on Charlie's face a moment before he broke out barking and tugging the leash in the direction of the birds. The eleven-year-old had no chance at holding back the 80 pound shepherd and was quickly tugged behind. From the corner of his eye, Charlie saw Sasha running up behind him to cut him off. She never made it.

With sufficient tension in the leash, it simply took a snap of the head to free himself. David, who had been skidding along the cement fell backwards onto his rump, Sasha was caught at the end of her leash, and birds and feathers rose into the air obscuring everything.

David called his name, but what really tugged at Charlie's heartstrings was Sasha calling, "Charlie, please, take me with… You don't have to go alone!"

It hurt Charlie a lot more than he expected when he barked back, "Stay with David. I'll be back later!" With all three humans calling his name, Charlie disappeared into the crowd, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sasha sitting serenely beside David's seated form gently licking his hand.

Running west into the Tenderloin, Charlie's first stop of the day was the Flea Bite. While he had no problem getting in, Fred was there this time, and the streetwise shepherd predicted having some additional hassle getting his money back from the greedy, lecherous hound than from the soft spoken and quiet pug he had left it with the previous evening.

"Hey Charlie, seems like someone was playing well at the tables last night… _really_ well I hear." Said the pudgy, overdressed, solid brown hound, stressing the last with an incriminating tone. He gestured at Charlie's neck with his snout, "What's with the neck-warmer?"

Charlie bristled slightly, "neck-warmer" was a very condescending term, he had learned, for a collar; as if he were weak enough to need his neck warmed or was spoiled enough to get one from his owners even if he did. "It's nothing you need to worry about, _Fred. _I'm just here for my money. Your stooge should have stashed it in the shack behind the bar."

"_My_ _office_, you mean. Sure thing Charlie… I'll get it right out" The last words dripped out of his mouth like liquid velvet and Charlie braced himself against the outrage that was surely to come.

The brown mutt came back around toting a pawfull of bills that was much, _much_ smaller than Charlie was expecting. When he was handed the assorted, crumpled and much abused bills, he saw that it scarcely summed up to more than a hundred dollars; after dutifully playing back the chips he had borrowed, he had left well over $500 there the previous night. Despite expecting to be cheated, he could not suppress a furious growl which turned the heads of Bruce, Rosco and two other guards who were sitting and lapping at the bar, but Charlie didn't care. "What's the deal? Where's the rest of my cash?!"

"I simply took the liberty of removing the debts you owed me." Fred chuckled in a way that further infuriated Charlie, "Look at it this way, you're a free dog now."

The German Shepherd couldn't stop his eye from twitching at the sheer arrogance of the canine before him. "We had a deal! That money isn't due for another three months." Charlie's sharp mind did a quick sum, "And you took a lot more than I owed you."

"Hey, now, no need to get your hair up." Fred sent a significant look to his hired muscle at the bar. "I'm running a business here, not a charity. Do you think that stage just fixed itself do ya? Half the damn thing was covered in scorch marks after your little stunt. And now I'm asking for what's due."

"This is _robbery."_ Growled the large black and tan dog out of the corners of his snout.

The big dogs stepped lightly off their stools and stood ready behind him and the round dog before him took the opportunity to get closer into Charlie's face, despite the fact that there was easily a three inch difference in their lines of sight. "It is what you make of it, Charlie. You're free to go and maybe you'll think twice before trying another failed business attempt this time around, eh?"

Charlie was giving himself fairly good odds that he could jump on Fred and get his teeth in his thick neck before his guards could do anything about it when a deep and slightly husky voice called out from his right. "Give the kid the money, ya greedy prick." Heading a group of three tall and heavily muscled Rottweiler's was none other than Buck himself.

Chest and neck swaying, the old guard dog came over to join Charlie and Fred while his relatives took positions breathing over Fred's own inferior muscle. "You trying to squeeze the kid, Fred?" He shook his head, "Shame to see you reduced to shaking down a poor wretched mutt like this."

"Uhh…" Charlie managed to put in before Buck spoke on ignoring him.

"I won't see my money going someplace I can't wring it out later." He lifted his chin slightly, "Give the kid the money."

Fred hesitated, he wasn't used to being on the losing side, especially in his own club, "But…"

Buck lunged forward, his snout next to Fred's and Charlie didn't doubt for a moment, that trained muscles and a sharp wit still beat under all that flab. Buck parted his lips, revealing his aged yellow teeth that still looked rather sharp in the morning light, "Don't make me say it again. You're father had sense, Fredrick." Buck spat, "He'd be ashamed to see what you've become."

That finally broke him. Fred's ears drooped and his tail flew up under his legs. It was more than a little satisfaction watching Fred scurry away back to his shed/office. He had time to think what a kick Sasha would have gotten if she had witnessed the scene (she and Fred shared a particularly loathsome relationship) before Charlie was nose to nose with big Buck himself. Despite being taller, Charlie wouldn't have been surprised if Buck weighed fully twice as much as himself; his sheer girth and the faint lines of deeply buried, though still very potent muscles, was intimidating. He stared Charlie down. "Don't think I did this because I like you as a gambling partner, boy (Charlie really wished he would stop calling him that, he was three years old for goodness sake!)" He muttered quietly, "Think of it as an investment… you've got spunk, and more than that you've got talent. Know that I fully expect to get my money back out of you… with dividends." The old dog winked significantly at him and sent Charlie's breath rattling back into his chest as Fred came back around.

He was grumbling, but all it took was a look from Buck to silence him again. He spat fresh bills clasped gently between his teeth at Charlie's feet and turned and went back into his tiny, ramshackle abode, slamming the door behind him. And just like that the encounter was over. A club blow to Charlie's withers made him stagger until he realized it was Buck patting his back. The graying Rottweiler barked once at his compatriots and left without further discussion.

Charlie picked up bills and sank heavily onto his haunches in front of the bar as he began ordering meat. Once again he was feeling exhausted and yet he hadn't even started his day yet…


	4. A Matter of Afterlife and Death

Chapter Four

Chewing the inside of his lip to stave off sleep, Charlie spied the interior of the Flea Bite; he was going to need some muscle, but more than that _reliable_ muscle. It was then that he spotted the mastiff he fuzzily remembered from last night snoozing in a corner. Of course, it wasn't _that_ hard to spot him, even for his breed, this guy was _big_. The black furred dog had a massive head he could have easily rested on Charlie's shoulders and was more than one and a half times wider in the chest than the leaner canine. Yet, as well as Charlie could remember, this dog had proven to have more upstairs than cat chasing (every dog had that), and how to get his next bit of meat. Charlie cautiously prodded the dog who was crushing the life out of the padding in the rear half of an ancient 1934 Chrysler; Charlie had to admire whoever found the Flea Bite's furniture for their astounding lack of taste, the car was an unpopular hunk of junk all the way back in _his_ day.

Charlie supposed that the neatly wrapped and balanced packages of meat he carried across his back more than anything woke the mastiff for he was a heavy sleeper; he came to consciousness licking his lips while drool flowed under thick, folded jowls over half a foot long.

"Hmmm… Wha…?" The mastiff murmured while still under the haze of sleep. He came to fairly quickly when he saw Charlie's face, "Uhhh… oh! Charlie… What d'you want?"

Charlie could have chuckled at seeing the mastiff visibly change his demeanor when he put on his tough outer shell. As it was, however, Charlie remained calm and friendly; he didn't know him well, but this mastiff was at least as good, and probably a fair bit better, as any other decent muscle in the bar. The shepherd dog reached around his back with his neck and jerked a fine piece of center cut sirloin from the pouch across his back. He dropped it before him and asked, "You busy Sunday night?"

It turned out that the mastiff, whose named, hilariously, was Rupert, was available immediately. The reason for Rupert's intelligence also became clear, he was a pedigree, a genuine pureblooded Neapolitan Mastiff no less. His family had moved out of the country and carelessly thought that their 180lb dog would do well in apartment life. Needless to say, he had found San Francisco abodes horridly cramped and had run away. Unlikely as it was, for the past year, Rupert had been thriving on the streets doing odd jobs, but mostly working as a part-time bouncer. All this Charlie learned on the first short walk down to Oak Street; the guy was a regular open book, and more than a little bit of a complainer.

In a long series of walks that ate the majority of the remaining morning, Charlie alerted his contacts who were in charge of securing his runners that they would be needed the following night and made appointments for Sunday afternoon to make sure everything went smoothly. Through months of promising, word-craft, and often bribing, Charlie had secured the cooperation of several dogs who agreed to "escort" their rodent charges to Charlie's race track… whenever he happened to collect enough meat to pay them.

After the last stop, yet another unassuming suburban home which just happened to house both a pet rat and a desperate dog, Charlie stood against a garbage can and nosed his empty, blood stained sackcloth into the dumpster. After that, he sat down and counted the left over cash he had secreted into his collar…_ pheh, neck-warmer, the damn thing is at least good for something_. Rupert came and sat down next to Charlie, his bulk towering over him like an obsidian statue.

"You really think you can count on those dogs to deliver?" asked Rupert, "Some of them seemed kinda jumpy."

Charlie grinned up at the worrisome behemoth, "Trust me. In my experience, it's the desperate ones that can be counted on…" Charlie's eyes became a bit glazed, "It's always the ones that don't need you that stick around, pretend you're their friend and stab you in the back the second you let your guard down!"

"Errr… maybe you should get some rest, Charlie. You seem a little high strung." As subtly as a dog that big could, he gestured down at Charlie's paws. He saw red. He had apparently driven his claws right into the space under his left foot pad without noticing.

He took a few breaths before speaking. "It's… nothing. Look, I just got to show you the track and tell you what needs to be done there tonight and tomorrow. You'll get twenty-five now plus another seventy-five Sunday night like we agreed, Bob"

"Just show me the way, and… er, it's Rupert."

The old warehouse was truly a treasure, the fruit of nearly four months of scouring the piers on the west coast. The place was old and in a rundown part of the town… well at least as run down as anything got in San Francisco. Charlie had seen the depths to which human owned properties can plunge. The padlock was really a lock shaped lump of rust and the boxes inside looked as though they hadn't been touched in decades. Poor Rupert had to literally break his way through the opening that Charlie had found in an anterior wall. The shepherd dog delegated that it should be made even wider and well marked for Sunday and felt a small thrill up his spine. _Here I am, the Boss again and hopefully,_ Charlie thought, _if things went as planned, I'll remain the Boss_.

Charlie talked as he led Rupert around through the winding aisles. His mind was ablaze with visions of grandeur. Carpets, slot machines, music, _show-girls_ and most importantly dogs, dogs with cash and willingly handing it over, even thanking you for taking it off their paws. Ohh, nothing gave Charlie such satisfaction as swindling so well that the dogs were actually grateful for the opportunity afterwards. That was the mark of a true genius, no amount of hired muscle could buy that look on their faces. It was such a shame he had so little money to work with…

Rotting wood boxes were piled irregularly to form a winding passage to the place Charlie had started preparing the track. There were dozens of places it could have been, but he chose the one at the end of the longest, most winding path for that extra hint of mystique, the sense that you were leaving the outside world behind and entering a new one, one in which, hopefully, you were more easily parted with your cash. Of course the place needed a lot of work still to even approach Charlie's high expectations and he made sure to point out where boxes could be moved to widen the path or fill in rifts in the wooden valley walls; Rupert seemed to memorize every order with a little grunt and nod of the head at each of Charlie's requests. At the end of the path, around a corner stood revealed… well, nothing much now, to those without vision.

Like all rat racing tracks, it was a three dimensional construct. Charlie had labored for the last month to lay out the basic course through nearly one and a half stories of boxes, all the while cutting open sides to allow viewing from the stands across the broad opening in the floor. Oh, how he longed for the electric cheese cart, you could make the rats go any which way with that. As it was now, though, the rats would need to be led by a hand operated pulley system. This of course also meant that the track had to be relatively simple. It was only three layers tall, with the cheese being dragged above obstacles below. Three boxes with three interior walls of increasing height marked the first stage after which, the rope led down a shaft into the second level. Four boxes were dedicated to agility where the rats had to nimbly turn and twist within three different and convoluted tracks while the cheese would float on enticingly above. Down another chute led to the simplest track, an all out sprint covering seven boxes at ground level.

"There it is, Bob, Ain't she a beaut."

"Yeah, sir, certainly looks… entertaining, and by the way it's Ru-"

Charlie was already moving past him, "The track's already pretty much complete, aside from the pulley system, but the parts are all there, you just need to put it together. What I need you to do today is polish this baby up. Get some paint, some fish netting for the walls on the first level and some Chihuahuas to do the interior. If you're done early, start stacking the stands, they should be in even rows, put smaller boxes next to the larger ones to make a staircase… ummm…" Charlie blinked and gave a great yawn, peeling back his lips from his lupine mandibles.

"Got it, Charlie." Supplied the cooperative mastiff. "I should be able to get that done today. There are a couple puny mutts that owe me a favor or two. Anything else?"

Charlie couldn't resist yet another huge yawn. His teeth clacked together as he started talking, "While you're out see, if you can dig up some old ice chests, we'll need them for beverages and meat… and also a chalk board for displaying odds… that should be all for now." Charlie grabbed the wad of cash from his collar and peeled away two twenties for the big dog. Rupert's eyes lit up. "For any expenses; you can keep anything you don't spend." Added Charlie before turning tail, it never hurt to grease the wheels…

Charlie knew there was bound to be a ruckus when he returned home, so he plopped down under a tree in Lafayette Park near his home and napped; he just didn't have the strength to deal with such an encounter anymore. He was awakened when the afternoon sun flashed in his sight from behind his eye lids as the tree's shadow drifted away.

As he was about to jump a fence to cut through the back yards of the neighborhood, the tall shepherd saw a black and white Border Collie wandering up the alley. Her fur was shaggy and she wore a lost and pained look on her face, she was also fairly transparent in the shadow between the buildings. Charlie observed her movements, the way she wandered about confused and pawing at either wall in turn. _An honest to goodness ghost_, thought Charlie, _Hmmm… you don't see too many of those around._ Humans were often very dense when it came to immaterial matters. Either they completely buried their heads in the sand and ignored everything or they were overzealous when it came to their paranormal investigations. Most odds noises people heard in houses were simply odd noises. Of things that were truly of non-physical origins, most of these haunting were nothing more than residual psychic energies from past trauma or other emotions that linger around for a while before eventually fading away.

The truth, Charlie had learned, was that real ghosts, actual spirits of the deceased, canine or otherwise, were more than mere echoes. For whatever reason, it was always different, they were stuck here, and for the most part, they were pilgrims, hopelessly wandering the earth. It was pathetic really. Ghosts were often neurotic, hence not following the designated path, which Charlie himself could testify, was not exactly hard to miss. The most neurotic ones couldn't even experience the real world, being forever trapped in their own personal dream world, often, their own personal hell. This would be the fourth ghost Charlie had yet encountered in San Francisco and the fact that she clearly knew where the walls of the alley were, as well as the floor, otherwise she would have passed through them, lent credence to the idea that she could possibly be the tiniest bit sane.

He could have just trotted by, jumped over the fence and been on his way, but for the sake of curiosity, and perhaps a hint of sympathy, he stopped before her and asked tenitivly, "Hello? …Can you hear me?"

The fact that she stopped her frantic searching was an absolute surprise for Charlie.

The female collie started and looked frantically all around her, her mouth moved, but Charlie could only detect the faintest of whispers. He moved closer and repeated himself.

This time, she whipped around and definitely looked in Charlie's direction, but her gaze was still confused. She sniffed nervously at the air, the expression on her face all fear, all concern. Charlie's sharp ears picked up the tiniest, softest voice imaginable as she was drawn more and more to his level of reality, "Is … sssomeone… tthhere…?"

Charlie walked forward until he was face to face with the shaking ghost; yes, he could even detect a faint smell, more the memory of a smell. Her scent was soft and clean, evoking images of waterfalls and rainclouds, but with a certain fullness as if she had gotten into a jar of nutmeg. "I'm here," said Charlie slowly and calmly, the collie's ears pricked, "I'm right in front of you… can you see me? Follow my voice."

She cocked her head first left and then to the right. She took a step forward and Charlie flinched as he thought she was going to walk through him, an unpleasant sensation that sent his skin crawling, but she stopped at the last instant. She was looking right _at_ him.

As Charlie became clear to the ghost, so the ghost grew more and more visible until she was nearly opaque. She reached out with a paw, brushing the outline of Charlie's shoulder; the skin tightened involuntarily with chill. Her voice came like a whisper on the wind, but to a dog, that was completely audible. "You're so blurry… Are you real?"

Charlie had to suppress a laugh, not wanting to upset this delicate contact. But, for once, he was at a loss for words. He had not truly believed that he could make contact with her, and now, he didn't even know what he wanted to say to her. _Well first things first_, he thought as he took the plunge. "Yes, I'm real." He said, "You…uhhh… looked a little lost."

"Oh I am!" She said sincerely, and her emotions blotted through into Charlie's mind like ink through a coffee filter. She was filled with loss, but also, strangely with care, devotion and most potently, love. Given the nature of their meeting, she, after all, was not physically there, any stimulation on Charlie's senses was all purely in his mind, he should not have been surprised, but the sensation did indeed throw him off his guard. She continued even as Charlie reeled with feedback from their psychic connection, "I've lost my litter. My pups, they were taken from me! I have to find them, I have to! Please, please, sir, can you help me?"

It was hard, nay impossible not to feel for her pain, but the simple fact of the matter was that she had to get over this. It was cruelly obvious what was keeping this sad mother here, clinging to a world she no longer had any place in, and again Charlie was reminded of what wrongs existed in this life and the next. He was sure someone like Annabel could have whipped down here and helped her in a moment… but he supposed that helping a poor soul like her would get in the way of the "Grand design" or "Fate" or some other load of crap. He sighed, _I guess an ex-angel_ was the best she was going to get.

"Listen, Dol-… Lady, you need to listen to me really close, OK? Can you do that?"

Her pleading and frantic eyes calmed somewhat and she nodded with a sharp thrust of her snout.

"Good, good," he said soothingly, "Look around you, do you know where you are?"

She looked affronted, like he had asked the most obvious, irrelevant question ever, "Of course, I know where I am. We're in Detroit. But really, my pups they-"

"Shhh- Shhh Shhh-" interrupted Charlie, "We'll get to that, I promise. Just look around you carefully, describe to me what you see, feel, hear, everything." Charlie knew that the only thing for her to do was to move on and let go of her lost pups, the first step was going to be getting her to remember that she is dead… and he knew that that was going to be the hardest part.

"Well, I…" She deflated a little, but also seemed to relax. She heaved a sigh and Charlie felt a tiny stir of unseasonably cold air on his cheek, "I see… an alleyway… and you, of course. It's, it's so dark… and cold. I c-can't ever get warm. I just hear the wind howling… all the time. You're the first person I've talked to since… since… No! I don't want to- What are you doing? I have to find my pups!"

The slim border collie had stood up and was bristling. Charlie was taken aback, he tried to pacify her, "Listen, you have to remember, you have to go back!"

The border collie clutched her head as if in pain, shaking it back and forth, muttering, "No, no, no, no…" Charlie approached a bit closer and she jumped back, pointed an accusatory paw at him, "You! You're trying to trick me! …You stole them didn't you? You stole them!" Her flash of hideous anger and pain was like a dagger being stabbed into the top of his skull. She leaped on him and though her teeth and claws passed right through his body, there appeared thin scratches like paper cuts on his neck and shoulders as manifestation of her pure hate.

Charlie yelped and ran up the alley away from the crazed ghost. Up and over the short fence he leaped, but it was not until he had the length of the first backyard behind him did he dare glance back. The collie was stumbling blindly along his path, standing right in the chain link fence, but unsure of the grass under her feet. She was screaming, "I'll find you! I'll find you! **I'll find you!!!**"

However, she was already fading, descending back into whatever little pit she had been drawn from. Charlie looked on, partly in fear, partly in morbid interest as she stumbled, falling about half a foot into the ground. She let out a long drawn out howl of despair that faded until even Charlie could no longer hear her. Her furious expression eased somewhat and took on the same concerned worry he had first seen her with originally; Charlie supposed she had already forgotten him. She looked desperately around her, absolutely dejected and then hurried away through the walls of the nearby house. It took Charlie five whole minutes to get his legs to carry him home after the experience, he was so shaken.

He was careful to enter the house quietly to avoid a huge, noisy greeting by the humans, though honestly, he was more concerned about how Sasha might feel about his abandoning her… as well as how much longer he might be able to milk being troubled by spirits before he'd have to further explain his aberrant comings and goings. Sasha met him at the bottom of the steps and he silenced her quickly by brushing his tail against her snout while ushering her into the bathroom under the steps.

"What is going on?!" she asked with a muffled woof as soon as Charlie had removed his brush-like tail from her snout. "You've been acting like such a… a _jerk_ lately. What's wrong with you, taking off like that?! Where've you been all day?"

Charlie didn't hesitate, "Sasha, I'm going to tell you everything, but you're going to have to trust me."

Her eyes lit up with the depth of her passion and concern as she sat down before Charlie in the dim light of the powder room under the steps.

The best lies are those that aren't lies at all. Charlie was a master at weaving and twisting language to create dreams, hopes, bring out all the good things that, perhaps, aren't really there. It is so easy, humans and dogs alike all look for the best in dire circumstances, they _hope._ No Charlie didn't lie, he would never lie to Sasha, he told her about his encounter with the pink whippet she had seen briefly that terrible night on Alcatraz. He told her about the, for lack of a better word, _policy changes_ upstairs and what that would mean for everyone still down on earth. He even told her about the ghost.

"So that's it, this _Annabel_ is sending you on a mission, right?" her eyes lit up hopefully, tears clinging to her irises in relief but that she was too proud to shed. "That's what you've been doing all this time."

Stifling a guilty swallow, Charlie leaned forward and placed his neck against hers and took a great gulp of air in a sigh that shook his whole body. She came to the conclusion that she wanted to see, he hadn't lied to her… but why was there still this sour aftertaste on the back of Charlie's tongue?

The humans' reaction to Charlie's return was predictable. There was nearly half an hour's worth of hugging, petting, and hooting over the meanderings of the prodigal shepherd. Still more time after that was spent making phone calls on the part of the parents, perhaps to cancel searches, or perhaps to contact concerned family, Charlie would never know. David, however, took him straight to his room. The kid gabbed at Charlie for almost an hour while he lay with his head on his paws, his slim hand running back and forth across his back until it felt like he was wearing away Charlie's fur. But Charlie endured it, partly because Sasha sat at the foot of the bed and gave him an incriminating look whenever he so much as stretched a paw, but also partly due to a certain sense that defied Charlie's ability to pin down and describe it. It was a sort of attachment, a feeling that he owed David something, but not even _this_ David, the mute and often times annoying human child, but the one he had known on the street once upon a time. Under the child's unending stroking, Charlie's heavy eyelids fluttered for a while and then finally dropped, this time with an honest sigh of relief.


	5. Setting the Stage

Chapter Five

All the rest of the afternoon, the weary dog slept, and all that night as well, only coming downstairs once to voraciously wolf down his dinner. As usual, it took merciless prodding and shoving on the part of Sasha to rouse the big shepherd dog.

Charlie blinked his watery eyes, still bleary with visions of himself and Sasha sitting on a pile of poker chips while watching the white ball of a roulette table go round and round.

"_Charlie, it's going to land on Double Zero!" exclaimed Sasha even as the white ball bounced and faded out of Charlie's sight._

"Erhm…?" mumbled Charlie, unable to control a vast yawn that exposed his impressive array of sharp white teeth.

"I said, lazy dog, that David and his parents have left us at home… alone."

It was then that Charlie noticed the twinkle in his partner's eye and all tiredness lifted from him as if on angel's wings. He jumped from the bed, still standing a little above her eye level on his long legs and wagged his tail. _After all, there isn't really anything left to do today until later this afternoon,_ Thought Charlie. _Bob could take care of things while he and Sasha took some time for themselves._ He crossed necks with her and breathed in her scent at her long furred ruff, it smelled of damp fur, fresh water and soil; she'd already been out and about today.

"How disappointing," Charlie cooed, now rubbing his muscular shoulder against hers in a friendly manner, "They must not trust me so soon after escaping yesterday… I guess we'll have to find something to do on our own, eh?" He led the way down stairs through the back dog door and under the fence separating their own tiny yard from the rest of the wide green space filling in interior of the block of homes like a sweet frosting on the inside of the rough, noisy exterior.

The afternoon found the two lovers lying together under the cool winter sun after having spent a leisurely day sniffing around and hopping fences in the backyards of the block in which they lived, protected from traffic and secluded from all but the harshest city noises. Charlie lay on his back, legs splayed feeling more refreshed and at ease than he had felt in weeks; Sasha lay dozing lightly at his side. And while he would have liked to have remained with her until nightfall forced them home, he had a future to build and the western sky was becoming tinged with pink.

He nosed her a bit with his snout, but she was already starting to wake with the subtle sound of his rolling over in the grass. Her green eyes opened delicately in a controlled way, like the opening of flower's petals. She raised her head silently off the ground and the look on her face told Charlie that she had already predicted what he was going to say.

"You have to leave don't you?" preempted Sasha. Her expression was filled with immutable hurt but also understanding. It made Charlie wince and in that moment, he didn't know how he could go on deceiving her like this… it hurt so much.

He said, "Yeah… um, Sasha, I'm going to be gone until late tonight." He rubbed the back of his head with a paw while looking at the ground.

Sasha sighed as Charlie stood and asked, "What are you going to be doing? Is it dangerous?"

"I'm… meeting someone." Said Charlie truthfully, a great many someone's in fact, "Don't worry about, I'll be fine."

As the shepherd loped off, just before slipping through a loose fence board, he heard her say, "Stay safe!" And he wished he could just turn around and go back to her. But no, he had already set too many things in motion to back out now.

Charlie first went to the old warehouse which contained his race track to go over the results of the past day's labors. He nodded at the large, clean cut opening in the rear wall. It was made into a circle large enough for even a St. Bernard (though admittedly, said dog would have to crouch a little), but far more impressive was the design around the portal; it was made to look like an enormous poker chip. Charlie's tail wagged at just the sight of it. Inside, the convoluted path between the moldering boxes was very much the same, save that a string of Christmas lights had been run along the floor to illuminate a path. _This Rupert's got a good head on his shoulders_, thought Charlie, _I'd almost forgotten that it will be dark when the betters arrive._ The sounds labor reached Charlie's sensitive ears long before he actually reached the track. Boxes were still being pushed against the floor or each other, with the occasional slam of old wood on concrete, and under that, the constant rasp of brushwork.

Charlie couldn't have been more pleased at what met his eyes when he walked around that final corner, it was like a dream that had leap clear off the canvas of his imagination. It was truly amazing what a little paint and some elbow grease could do. Bright blues, reds and purples covered the face of the open track, crisscrossing in an organic Mexican design that almost made the eye water. The interior was mostly colored green and Chihuahuas were running here and there inside the track adding little details that drew the eye and made the whole thing resemble some extraordinary toy box. Some might have been repulsed by the childishness of it, but Charlie saw it as a grand gimmick. _Yeah, I can see it._ Thought Charlie, _Our patrons will come to re-experience just a little bit of their puppyhood, yes, this could work…_

The stands for the rats were already set and the pulley string for the cheese lead was hung taught above the track. One small dog, hardly bigger than a rat himself, was oiling the wheels for the rope. On the opposite side of the track, there was the big dog himself, Rupert pushed a box nearly three times his size with what seemed incredible strength off the top row of the stands. It fell behind the stacked seating with a thunderous crash and the black mastiff picked up a broom leaning on the level below him, rose up on his hind legs and proceeded to sweep the dust away from where he had just cleared the box.

Charlie ran up to him. "B- Rupert, this is great!" He couldn't hide his delight and eagerly wagged his tail the whole time.

Rupert grunted approval and said in his rumbling baritone. "Yeah, I like it, but all I really did was stack the stands. The little guy in there." The black dog threw his heads towards the tiny mutt oiling the wheels, "He belongs to some famous fag artist or something. When I mentioned the project, and the fact that I'd drop the debt he owed me, he nearly leapt out of his skin. I showed him the place last afternoon, and he had designs ready by midnight. Those are his brothers in there and a couple urchins I picked up off the dock for just a few steak tips each!"

Charlie grinned, "Well, it looks like I made a good choice in hiring you, Rupert." Sneaking a paw up into his collar, Charlie extracted a ten dollar note and planted it on the floor before the great dog. "Here's a tener… for a job well done. You know, I could use an extra set of hands tonight to take bets. I can guarantee the cash will keep flowing if you come work for me."

Charlie noted that the mastiff took the bill swiftly with his paw before saying anything. He growled a little in thought before saying, "Hmmm… thanks, but no thanks, Chief. I had to learn the hard way not to pledge my loyalties to anyone but myself, if you know what I mean. Sure, I'll keep working for ya as long as you're willing to pay me, but if someone offers me more for my time, I'm going to take the better deal. It's nothing personal, mind ya."

"No sweat, but I don't expect you to run off tonight, I have a feeling we're going to make history." The shepherd nudged the larger dog in the shoulder, "And if I'm right, there's nobody who's going to offer you more money or meat that I will."

The black dog moved his head as he glanced around the empty concrete floor, tinged red with the afternoon sun, "If anyone shows up that is…"

"Just leave that to me…" Charlie said as he turned tail and left Rupert to his sweeping. Charlie thought to himself as he trotted swiftly down the street_, it's time to sell the sizzle..._


	6. Selling the Sizzle

Chapter Six

If there was any place to advertise for canines in San Francisco, Charlie hated to admit it, it was the Flea Bite. Much to his annoyance, however, Bruce and Rosco must have gotten their leashes yanked by old Fred because they refused to let Charlie in, and he knew from their steeled eyes, flattened ears and drooling lips that no amount of bacon was going to buy his way in this time. Charlie bristled at the inconvenience, but nothing more as he jumped over a half hearted lunge by Rosco and turned tail.

Charlie had to jog home and retrieve a small leather wrapped bundle from where he had stowed it behind a loose panel in the side of the front steps. Luckily he was there and gone before any noted his presence.

Everyone knew that there were only two main entrances to the Flea bite leading to opposite sides of the block, but what most everyone had forgotten about or taken for granted was the fact that all of the shops around the entire perimeter still had doors that lead into the club, even if most of them had been sealed for years or even decades.

The sun was still four paw's widths above the horizon when Charlie made his way back to the shabby block in which the Flea Bite was situated, giving about two more hours of daylight. _Plenty of time_, thought Charlie as he unrolled his little package.

It had been a long time since Charlie had ever broken into a place, even after taking out the 45 years intermission between respiring. In fact, he had only ever done so four times in all his three years of life, and half of those he had gotten busted before he had been able to grab the thing he was looking for. However, there were just some things that came naturally to the conniving shepherd and as he wedged the small screwdriver below the bolt of the aged door and broke the lock out of the rotted wood, he knew that this was one of them.

The shop, two doors down from the bottom-of-the-barrel liquor store that supplied the Flea Bite was virtually empty save for the stacked tables covered in white cloth in the corner opposite the door. Charlie scented the air as he entered haphazardly, it was stale and stagnant, like the inside of a tomb; a dirty tinge of rotten meat let Charlie recognize the place as a onetime deli. He hopped lightly onto the old serving bar and jumped down, turning into the back. The kitchen must have been top of the line for its day, it had a genuine brick oven for baking bread as well as two stainless steel islands in the center for storing cookware that had all been either taken by the owner or pilfered long ago. The reflective surface drew Charlie's eye and he felt the compulsion to wander over and rub his forearm against the dusty surface. It shined like silver. _Such a pretty thing,_ thought Charlie, _it'd have been long gone if the screws bolting it to the floor weren't stripped…_

It was then that he saw a dark face looking over his shoulder. Charlie launched himself in a whirl, ready to latch onto the first thing that came across his desperate leap… but there was nothing there but the scent of long dead ashes. Charlie's heart slammed against his ribs from the fright and he let his shoulders slump and felt the hair go lax on the back of his neck. _So stupid… There's nothing here. Now where's the do-_

Charlie was interrupted in his thought as he turned back around by the bright and very clear image of a pink whippet in the reflective surface of the counter he had just cleaned.

"Where are you going, Charles?" asked Annabel.

Charlie hugged his lock picking tools and miniature crowbar closer to his chest, "I don't see why that's any business of yours."

"Charles, what happened to our talk? You not only cheated Buck, but you're using the money to build a racing track for gambling!" The image of her delicate paw appeared beside her head and floating above it was once again Charlie's angel pin. This time, all of its supernatural glow had gone, the whole surface was tarnished with white crust and even rust in some places. The tip of the right wing had broken off and at the heart of the pin, the blue diamond, there was a tiny crack. "Look at the difference, Charles, for Goodness sake! It will have crumbled to dust in just a month at this rate."

Charlie did indeed worry about what was happening to his hard won award, but he steeled himself, "I'm doing this for Sasha."

"You're doing it for yourself, because it's fun. You can't lie to Heaven… Please, Charles don't do this…"

Charlie growled softly under his breath as a swirl of emotions rose up in him. Cheating and gambling were definitely fun, Charlie enjoyed the thrill and the danger… but there had always been the justification of working towards a goal, a better life for himself and Sasha. Was that really a lie he was telling himself? Was Charlie _that_ selfish? Suddenly he felt very dirty in the archangel's presence… well more than usual.

Strangely, Annabel opened her mouth as if to say more, but Charlie couldn't hear anything. She looked about startled around the edges of the reflection and then suddenly her image vanished as if the celestial feed were lost. Charlie's self loathing suddenly turned down a notch, though it did not completely evaporate. He shook himself, _Of all the dirty tricks. I'll teach her to get into my head like that…_

Down a small passage behind the kitchen that led into a bathroom with no door, Charlie deduced the door on the left led inside the Flea Bite from the length he had traveled so far into the shop. He tried his tools at the lock, twisting his tension wrench and inserting a fine toothed pick. After wiggling the old lock around, he exchanged his pick for a thicker one as well as a different wrench with a longer, more slender shaft. The tools had been fairly easy to obtain. Thieves were common in the Tenderloin and while most were paranoid about other human thieves, they rarely ever watched around their feet. The lock turned, but only halfway due to rust and misuse. Charlie got out the light crow bar and worked at the stuck deadlock for the better part of fifteen minutes, unlike the front door, the rear had been more sheltered from the elements and the wood was still strong. However, as it had to inevitably, the wood loosened and Charlie was able to turn the lock all the way. Falling back onto all fours, Charlie stashed his tools around the frame and cautiously opened the door.

The shop that Charlie entered was not chosen randomly. Though not actually knowing where the doors were, Charlie figured that a shop on the North side had to let out somewhere behind the stage and his reasoning was rewarded. Detritus that had fallen behind the stage over the years made it hard to open the door more than a few inches, but steady pressure eventually allowed him to squeeze his slim build through the narrow space. He crouched and listened above the blaring music for any sign of pursuit. When he felt comfortable, he took the tightly rolled bills from under his collar and counted what was left. Just $58 remained after sending Rupert off with the rest to stock the ice chests with booze and meat. Mind you, it wasn't that Charlie trusted Rupert to fulfill his duty out of honor, rather he recognized that the big mastiff was very interested in what was good for him, and moreover that the dog was smart enough to realize that he was bound to make more money working for him than taking off with a onetime bonus.

Climbing over junk that had lain at rest probably since the San Franciscan dogs' great-grand parents thought it would be a good idea to build a bar in this little used back alley reminded Charlie strongly of his days living at the junkyard in New Orleans. Into the crawlspace under the stage Charlie crept and he watched the paws of the dogs walking around for indications of his precise location. He meandered around ceiling high piles of ancient costumes, broken lights, and what looked like the bottom part of a car's chassis, which might have also constituted a portion of the stage's foundation for all Charlie knew, and made his way to the performers' locker room (or rather 'locker area' as all that separated it from the main bar was a ragged and moth eaten curtain).

Charlie must have proven quite a sight extracting himself from the dusty underside of the stage and scattering decade's worth of grime with a shake of his furry mane for a golden haired Pomeranian shrieked and ran out past the curtains.

Realizing he now had little time, he presented his question to the staring performers, "Who wants to make fifty bucks?"

About half an hour, and a quick wash in the sink behind the bar, later, Charlie had integrated into the crowd in front of the stage. Of course, he never let his guard down and kept his ears peeled for the sound of Fred's characteristic waddling gait (The overweight bar owner had a bad hip from his years of living it up after inheriting the bar from his father and unlike Buck, he didn't have a strong background of physical prowess in his favor). He might have left, but advertisement was the key to his racing track's successful launch and if the actors suddenly had a change in heart, despite only $15 in their pockets before the show, or if they forgot the script, Charlie would have to resort to a contingency plan; he hadn't thought of one yet, but he had a feeling that if everyone were driven out of the Flea Bite for some reason, they might want to go somewhere else to satisfy the rest of their night's diversions.

Kicking back and keeping his head low, Charlie sat cool and eventually the awaited pair walked walking on stage. The duet consisted of a white Lhasa Apso and a tan colored Bichon Frisé. The corners of the shepherd's lips curled as the steel drum was brought out by a stage hand of his own breed. The two little dogs leapt in to the bowl of the large, human sized musical instrument and began a fast paced, obligatory tropical beat as they danced together within; it was actually a good deal more impressive that the Flea Bite's standard fare.

The whole first half of their performance was done without lyrics as a few leather drums kept the beat in the background. Looking around, Charlie saw the audience sway with the gentle, light heartening melody. The room entranced as images of sandy beaches and crystal blue seas dances around on the collective subconscious, the duo began singing lyrics to a beat familiar to anyone who had seen a commercial advertising Jamaican summer get aways:

"_Let's get together an' be allriiigghtt! … Come to Charlie's Place an' make some caaassssh!"_

Charlie almost burst out laughed and there was more than one astonished face in the crowd. His hired dancers continued kicking the drum as they gave out information on how to get to Charlie's race track and once again outlined what a great place to win some money his race track is.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Fred climb out of his little trailer and immediately gather one of his goons from his break at the bar. Charlie grinned to himself, Too_ late, Fred, the damage is already done._ Needless to say, the little dogs were quickly shoved off stage by the big Doberman and since there was no longer any reason to hide his presence, the tall shepherd took advantage in the lull in the music to stand up high on the back of the sofa.

"Hey, Everyone!" shouted the black and tan dog as Fred looked up horrified from the other side of the club, "My name's Charlie and everyone who comes with me right now to the grand opening of my race track will get a five dollar betting ticket free!"

As that announcement settled into the crowd, Charlie locked eyes with Fred and the solid brown dog scowled but made no motion to gather any of his other hired guards; the sway of the crowd was with the shepherd and Fred knew he had been beaten this round.

The moment passed and Charlie was literally lifted off his feet and carried towards the west entrance by patrons eager to see what Charlie's latest scheme was. He would never forget the bewildered looks on Bruce and Roscoe's faces as he led a full complement of no less than forty dogs out the alley and into the back streets of the Tenderloin.

It was a long walk leading the pack at a slow enough pace that all could keep up for Charlie was used to trotting the rolling hills at better than a 15mph average with his long, graceful legs. He indicated the old warehouse at the rise of the last hill on the path and then darted ahead and into the poker chip entrance to check with Rupert and make sure everything was in place.

The big black dog was drooling out the sides of his jowls and looked like he had just had a decent run even as he stoked the ice chests from a shopping cart containing a side of beef on which three Chihuahuas worked furiously with tiny knives.

Rupert skipped the formal greeting, "Good to see ya, Charlie. Give me a hand with this meat. We're packing it tight, but I'm still not sure there's gonna be enough room. Got this awesome deal on this baby 'fell off the back of a truck… still smells great."

Charlie panted lightly, cool air flowing over his wide, outstretched tongue, "Good, good. The rats are here right?" The shepherd dog moved forward just in time as a large chuck of meat fell off the grand slab that was literally half a cow.

Charlie staggered under the weight, but the mastiff only grunted as he took the meat in his arms and packed it tightly into the ice chest, spreading on another layer of crushed ice out of a bag on top. "Umph! Well we have eight of the ten runners. The six tame are here, but we have only two wild ones so far."

Charlie growled, "Well, that's going to have to do." It was always good to not only have different breeds of rats, but also ones with different origins. Charlie knew professionally that tame rats were not as quick as wild ones, but tended to run the track better. On the flip side, wild rats tended to be in better condition, but were sometimes puzzled by obstacles. Of course, his patrons would have to learn that little tidbit for themselves. "Well get someone to put their numbers on and draw up the betting board. I'll come back and fill in the odds myself after I've had a look at the little cash makers."

As Charlie turned back up the passage, Rupert called back, "Hey! Where're you going? I thought you were going to help me out here."

"I can't, I have customers to greet."

"What?! You already brought them here? We aren't supposed to open for another hour and a half. You didn't tell me about this!"

Charlie shrugged, "Well that's just how things work out sometimes. We'll have to wing it. Get that betting board and the rats lined up. Pack the meat later, chances are some of these dogs are going to be hungry anyways."

The hulking black dog set the blood smeared chuck of meat on the ground and grumbled to himself as he stalked away. Charlie knew he would get over it; in the meantime, his public awaited.


	7. A Dark Visitor

Chapter Seven (A Dark visitor)

It couldn't have started out any better even if he had somehow started living in his fantasies. The rats were on display for the guests to measure up for a full two hours before the first race and patrons were encouraged to come and size up the competition and pick favorites while comparing the odds Charlie had written up on the board. In that time, his initial 40 guests had swelled to almost three times that number and all the while they drank Charlie's beer and ate Charlie's meat and listened to music that played on the old boom-box Rupert had dug up and each and every one of them got a free $5 bet. Even the two missing runners finally managed to come before the first race of the night was scheduled and the hubbub increased twofold as dogs sized up the new competition and changed bets even as the freshly caught (from the stench of sewer on their coats), beady eyed beasts bit and scrambled at their wire cages.

The rats were run five at a time to make a great many combinations of runners in the races and once things got rolling, races could be held once every 45 minutes. Charlie's heart leapt with joy as he looked on as the first rats ever on the track were released. Number 6, the wild one, didn't see the cheese racing by overhead until it was at the far end of the track and it was already far behind; almost a fifth of the on looking crowd moaned hideously. A black and white pinto mouse that was a good deal smaller than her competitors surprised even Charlie by dancing around her fellows in the agility portion of the track. She dropped down the chute at the far end after the aromatic sharp cheddar fully 20 seconds before her closest competitor. On the straight dash, it came neck and neck between a powerfully built gray rat and the pinto, but in the end, she beat the odds and the crowd looked on with gaping mouths as the winning mouse bit into her prize and only three individuals let up a great cry holding winning tickets.

Charlie stood on tip toes as he altered the pinto's odds for future races as large hunks of beef and bacon, as well as wads of cash on preference were handed out to the winners. Still, there was a huge surplus in his cash box after that amazing first race.

For the most part, Charlie walked amidst the crowd, congratulating winners, encouraging losers and generally making himself known while talking about the sport and its fine history back in New Orleans. Occasionally, the odd question came up, generally along the lines of: "Wasn't rat racing something they did back in the 40's?" or "How'd you know so much about this dead sport?"

To which Charlie would reply, "Research, my dear friends. Nothing ever dies out forever. Why I'm living proof." At that, he would walk away into another conversation and leave the questioners wondering at possible metaphorical meanings of the last part.

Money and meat alike flowed in and out as the night progressed and he and Rupert were kept busy taking bets and handing out winnings right before and right after each race while the Chihuahua crew were busy working the track, oiling wheels, setting cheese and cleaning up droppings and urine (truly rats were vile beasts) between and during each race. Their debts long since paid, Charlie retained their services for just ounces of meat on the hour.

Four hours after Charlie had brought the first of his patrons from the Flea bite, the second race had concluded and dogs were winding down, talking amongst themselves while everyone, including Charlie, was busy counting their earnings or taking stock of their loses. Into this calm between the frenzied excitement during each race strode the one person Charlie was most interested in seeing this night as well as the one he was the least certain as to which actions he might undertake.

Buck waddled in around the corner between the towering crates which did not seem quite as massive when placed next to his sizable girth. At his side walked one of his trim, muscular cousins, an example of the breed at its perfection.

_Only one bodyguard…_ thought Charlie upon seeing the big Rottweiler's swaying bulk, _Pretty bold, old-timer._ Of course, Charlie had not the faintest desire to see the old dog come to harm, but when a dog had as much wealth as Buck did, it paid to be cautious.

Somehow, despite the tight crowd, Buck made a bee-line for Charlie. He had no difficulties getting through the crowd; virtually no one wanted to risk being trampled by him. Charlie closed the lid to the cash box which now contained several hundred dollars worth in both earnings and bets (more of the latter at this point in the night) as Buck and his associate took seats in front of the betting table; if there had been a line before, there certainly wasn't one now.

The grey muzzled dog's body came to a rest long before his fatty shoulders did. "Charlie!" he greeted in his husky baritone, "You sure have managed a lot with my money in so little time. I'm impressed."

Charlie frowned; Buck talking about the shepherd's ill-gotten gains was really starting to make him uncomfortable. He stole a quick glace and noted the position of Rupert taking a break and gnawing on a thick beef bone nearby before answering politely but sternly, "I'm glad that you came out tonight Buck… but look, I really appreciate what you did for me yesterday back in the Flea Bite, don't get me wrong. But I don't owe you anything. I won that card game…"

"…Fair and square" said Buck in monotone. Whatever generous and easygoing attitude might have existed on Buck's chubby face evaporated with what he said next, "I'm not here to cause any trouble for you, kid, not tonight." He shifted his weight on aching joints, "But I will guarantee you I will get my money back, just like I said." His watery brown stare could have burned through steel. At this point, he gestured to his family mate with a flick of his thick head that sent the ample hanging flesh below his chin wobbling and his associate produced a small leather pouch from somewhere amidst his person. After handing it to Buck, the older dog opened it and extracted three crisp $100 dollar notes that looked straight off the mint. "I want it all on number four."

Charlie's mouth watered involuntarily at the sight of the extremely large bet. The amount of cash rivaled everything he had crumpled up in the cheap cash box. Charlie glanced at the betting board, the odds were 25:2. He looked out to the rat cages. Number Four was a pet rat, a little grey haired and overweight; certainly the time when it could have shone on the track were in the past. The conman turned track owner licked his lips, if Buck won, he'd lose all his cash and hardly have enough meat left over to grind into one hamburger. Still… the bills on the table called to him, each dead president whispering sweet notions into his ears. _Number Four has about as much chance of winning a race as Buck has himself_. "Sure, I'll take your money." The shepherd dog scribbled a quick betting ticket for Buck, secured the bills in the box and the two of them shook on it.

The old guard dog gone flabby said, "Pleasure doing business with you…" and simply turned and became just another part of the crowd.

There came the time for the third race of the evening and for the first time concerning a bet, Charlie was second guessing himself. _He couldn't possibly know something I don't… could he? What on earth was I thinking taking a bet that I can't pay?_ The black and tan dog trembled slightly and bit at the quick of his claws as the rats started their race. The black and white pinto was still resting from the first race, but the big grey who had raced her had recovered and was running a very good time. He took the lead right from the start, managing to leap almost entirely over the first wall with a single bound. Charlie's eyes darted left and right to find the aging Number Four. He found him lagging behind and Charlie sagged with relief, the older rat was trading fourth and fifth place with an albino lab rat that was belatedly discovered to run with its left leg tucked awkwardly in towards its chest. Number Four never caught up and finished only just ahead of the cripple and almost half a minute behind the leading trio.

Ears pricked with excitement, Charlie looked around the crowd to catch the look on Buck's fat face… but he didn't see him. Nor did Charlie see Buck again for the rest of the night which really surprised the new and increasingly wealthy track owner because he would have expected him to at least stick around and make a dent in his meat stock. Later that evening, Charlie would find Buck's ticket stub discarded carelessly near the entrance and he would wonder if Buck had even stuck around to watch the end of the race.

It was after the fourth race of the evening and Charlie was needed to hand out small awards after the popular pinto won her second race handily, coming in almost 20 seconds before her other competitors; Charlie immediately dropped her odds down to 3:2. The black and tan shepherd worked furiously with a knife and tongs, measuring cuts by eye since the scale Rupert had found in the trash burnt out after the first hour. It didn't help that everyone was free to pick what kind of cut they would like or whether to take their winnings in cash, so Charlie was constantly converting the worth of each kind of meat that could be imagined on a cow between dollars and between each other, but luckily, as a dog, valuing meat was a skill that came very naturally. Nevertheless, he was still being buried under the press and the line just seemed to keep getting longer. So naturally when a small voice greeted Charlie with a hearty, "Hey there buddy!" from somewhere around his knees, he didn't pay it much mind, even if it sounded oddly familiar in a hard to place and heartwarming way.

Charlie handed over his still bloody hunk of prime rib and wiped his paws off on his red stained midriff as he prepared to get bills out of the cash box for his next winner. "Hey, I'm really busy. You're going to have to wait in line like everyone else."

"Aww, so you're too busy for even an old friend?"

_Old friend?_ Charlie thought. He hadn't had time to even make _new_ friends; an old friend would mean he was from… Charlie looked over the edge of the cutting table and saw someone he didn't think he would see for another 19 years and five months.

A thick limbed and rather plain looking brown dachshund stood on ludicrously short legs beside the table. His large eyes were warm and filled with delight at seeing Charlie, upon his head was a red hat and on his chest a green vest shirt. _Itchy…_ Charlie's mind ground to a halt as his jaw dropped and hung limply.

"Hey, Charlie. Swell digs ya' got her-"

Charlie crouched and surged under the table, crying, "Itchy! It's you!" He was aiming to grab the little dog and pick him up into a warm hug, but instead his paws caught on empty air and his breath caught in his throat as his neck and chest passed right through the space his friend was occupying as he slipped and fell; the air in his lungs grew cooler, but not unpleasantly so, in fact, there was an almost refreshing quality like a cool mountain breeze inside him, bringing back memories of where he was "living" just over seven months ago.

Still flexing his paws dumbly, Charlie stuttered, "Itch, you're… you're…"

"Still dead." Itchy supplied, "Yeah, I know. I asked Annabel for some, heh… heh, interplanar leave and she gave it to me. But listen, we should talk in private. People are going to think you're nuts standing here talking to yourself."

Charlie noted the numerous eyes already turning to him for his apparently unprovoked outburst. He whispered, "Meet me around the back outside." To Rupert who was sawing ribs for a second time after an Australian shepherd backed up by an intimidatingly large St. Bernard claimed that his fist cut was undersized, Charlie said, "Hey, I'm taking five. Hold down the fort, OK?"

Charlie was away with a swish of his tail even as the large mastiff called back, "Hey, don't leave me alone here!"

Charlie ran into the tall, unkempt weeds on the other side of the warehouse. It was pitch dark save for the light of the stars and the general glow of the city on this night of the new moon. Seeing as the incorporeal dachshund could simply walk through the wall, it was not surprising to see him waiting for Charlie even as he dashed forward and clumsily put on the brakes, missing the small dog by a good four yards in the gloom.

"Itchy, I still can't believe it's really you… sort of." Charlie added while sticking his clawed digit into the space where Itchy's shoulder appeared to be; the fur stood on end all the way up to his wrist and his finger felt about ten degrees cooler.

"Stop that!" Itchy complained, waving the big mutt away with insubstantial paws.

Charlie took a seat on his heels and said, "Well, it's still good to see ya, heh, even if it's not in the flesh. What're you doing here anyways? … Oh no… did Annabel send you to- Well you can tell her that pulling on my heartstrings isn't going to change my mind. An' why would you-"

"Easy! Charlie, easy! It's not like that at all. Annabel told me what you've been up to, but I would never come down here just to try to convince to be something you're not. In fact, I think she's been trying too hard with you lately."

"Finally, someone up there who has some sense!"

"Well I'm not technically 'up there' anymore. I got my own mission here on Earth."

Charlie laughed, "Heh, what'd the old broad stick you with this time, did Michael lose a slipper?"

"No, no, it's not like what we were doing. My job is more down to earth… sort to speak. I'm here to help people, humans _and_ dogs make the right decisions in their life so they can eventually get into heaven."

Charlie was silent for a moment as he digested this. Finally he said, "So you're an Influence Peddler."

"Uh, wha?" Itchy stammered, "No! Nothing like… well I'm just trying to…"

"to _influence_ people to come to _our_ side as opposed to the _other_ side." Charlie finished.

"Yes! …But I still wouldn't call it peddling. It's supposed to be a really subtle art that takes years to master."

"Peddling _is_ a really subtle art that takes years to master. Believe me." Charlie gestured with a paw to his chest. "But, hey, it's nothing to be ashamed of. Look, it'll be almost like old times. You could come and stay with me 'n Sasha we'll hang out and… hey…" a devilish glint was captured in Charlie's eye, "You're invisible _and_ you can walk through walls…" The cunning hound's mind lit up with possibilities like a Christmas tree bursting into flames.

Itchy was already waving his arms back and forth, "No, Charlie, no. Don't even think about it. I'm an _angel _for crying out loud. Just don't even go there. And about hanging out… I've got like 20 clients to watch over and I'm going to be spending most of my time- Look out!"

Charlie turned his head in time to see a dark shape leap out of the surrounding weeds and throw itself onto Itchy. To Charlie's astonishment and horror, the shape bowled over the small dog and appeared to actually make physical contact with him.

Itchy yelped in pain and tried to buck the shape off him, it was like a furry, midnight black chainsaw whipping around in every direction, ivory claws flashed in the starlight.

"Holy crap!" Charlie exclaimed and rushed forward, trying to paw the cat, yes he could see it was one of those loathsome creatures, off his friend. But wherever he seemed to make contact, the only result was that his paws felt as if his bone marrow had turned to ice and his whole arms up to the elbow began to ache with cold and go numb. He was totally helpless to protect poor Itchy.

"Ah! Help me fight it Charlie! Stop- argh! using your paws. Use your spirit!" exclaimed Itchy as he tossed and tumbled with the lightning fast cat. Its claws whirled as if possessed by the fury of Hell itself, which might not be too far from the truth, and wherever they tore at Itchy, gossamer strands of silver were torn from his otherwise earthly looking hide.

Charlie tried to focus, tried to bring himself closer in mindset to wherever these two tumbling souls were. It was hard, his fear and concern for his companion clouded his mind. Charlie balled his paw and struck at the black shadow… to no effect, he tried again and then once more… he might as well have been trying to hit fog.

Itchy proved to have come a long way from his days of depending on Charlie for muscle. He was not the only recipient of battle wounds. His sharp little teeth managed to grab hold of the cat's forelimb even as it attempted to rack his nose. An evil red light pulsed from below the skin as it tore its paw away from Itchy's hold. But still, his hide was fast becoming crisscrossed with streak marks and he was panting. Even more disturbingly, his image began to flicker occasionally as well as fading somewhat to become slightly transparent as the ghost was in the alley.

This time, Charlie concentrated not on bringing himself closer to the level they were at, but rather inflating his spirit. His drive to protect his weaker companion filled him with, he would never call it that himself, but it was true nonetheless, righteous fury. He yelled as he charged forward, grabbing at the cat with his formidable canines. Surprise and awe, he felt the devilish thing on his tongue, a strong mix of sour and bitter like an infected blister infiltrated his tongue, but more importantly, he felt his teeth dig in and the cat yowled. It hissed and spit and turned with its ungodly flexibly spine to claw at Charlie's nose, and there indeed appeared thin lines like with his encounter with the ghost, but Charlie was too angry to let this despicable creature go. He focused instinctively, perhaps some half forgotten lesson while spent held up upstairs guided him, not on his anger, nor on his hate, but on the injustice it had delivered unto Itchy and the punishment it deserved. Charlie's jaws clenched, not with the strength of his muscles, but with the might of his fervor.

The cat screamed and pushed and pulled at Charlie's teeth as they rent it top and bottom. The cat went limp and Charlie released it… but it remained where he had held it, still bobbing effortlessly on thin air. An angry light glimmered hatefully from where Charlie had opened it across belly and spine. The form of the cat as Charlie knew it faded and contracted in on itself in difficult to follow ways, like some sort of unearthly puzzle box, until only the faint red light remained; it radiated malice. The powerless will-o-wisp stood for a moment before it fled away_ into itself_, moving in a direction that didn't exist on the physical plane.

Charlie sagged with the effort of his fight as the wounds on his nose bleed freely and more fiercely than even those inflicted on him by the ghost of the crazed mother. His mind reeled like it had been sent through a washing machine filled with acid. Powerful residual emotions tore through him, anger, hate, fear, but above all, pain, terrible pain as backwash from the shadow cat's passing. Charlie tried to block his mind to it but he was also dreadfully tired, having used up all his reserves banishing the demon.

Despite his exhaustion, Charlie managed crawl back to Itchy where he was recovering on the grass, "You OK? Itch? …" He tried to nose his prone body, but was met with nothing except a substantially diminished refreshing cool sensation and the feel of empty air. Charlie sat nearby, and as he watched, each of the silver lines the shadow cat had torn across his friend closed one by one.

Still panting, out of habit, not actual need, Itchy finally pulled himself up, still obviously concentrating on reconstituting his celestial body, but he said, "I'll be fine." His tone was unusually moody.

Charlie tried to be chipper, "We got that thing! I mean, you'll be better right?"

"Oh yes, Charlie, _I'll _be better. I don't know if I can say the same about you, though. Don't you know what that thing was?"

Charlie didn't have a clue, he'd never seen anything like it, but then he'd only been back for seven months and some of the things humans did now still surprised him. "Not a clue…"

"That thing was… well to use your term, an Influence Peddler, except for the _Other Side!_" Ithcy whined with the high pitched howl of his, "Ohhhh! Charlie, that thing was following _you_ around. It was feeding off and strengthening your corrupt thoughts. How could you have fallen so far to have a _demon_ tracing your footsteps?"

Suddenly, Charlie's brief interview with Annabel made much more sense. How could he have not noticed it though? How far had that cat sunk its dirty claws into his mind? And then came the realization that really hurt, that the shadow cat would not have been able to latch on so tightly if there hadn't already been something there in his mind to work on… and let fester.

Charlie was still more exhausted from the fight that he ought to have been, but there was a tangible weight that had been lifted from his shoulders and Charlie was now able to block out the worst of the quickly dissipating psychic residue still saturating the area. He wished desperately that there weren't so many things out there seeking to get their paws into his grey matter. Charlie just wanted to be _himself_.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you Itch…"

"Charlie…" Itchy shook his head on his short neck, "You really need to do some thinking. It's a good thing that you defeated your own demon… sort to speak, but if you don't change another one will come to take its place." The small dog laughed weakly as he focused on healing the last of his wounds, "And I don't know how much longer I can keep watching your back at this rate. Heh, heh, You're going to have to buckle down and toughen up."

Charlie laughed and socked him in the shoulder, or rather socked at his shoulder. "That's my old Itch…"

A tan and white Chihuahua came around the corner of the building panting hard on legs shorter than even itchy's. "Ay! Dios mio! Charlie! It's crazy in there, Rupert _needs_ you back!"

"Shoot, I have to go," Charlie said in undertone, still a fair distance from the tiny dog hand.

"Charlie don't…" whined Itchy

"I have an obligation to these people… at least for tonight. We'll talk about it later, I promise." Said Charlie as he staggered to his feet, the Chihuahua at his heels, he walked slowly at first but then quickened his step; the further away from the place where he had slain the shadow cat, the better he felt. Itchy might have said something, but Charlie couldn't talk now without sounding crazy.

Even so, the small dog asked, "Who were you talking to all the way out here?"

"Just an old friend…" Charlie let the phrase hang on the air and the track hand got the message not the pry. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as they say, and Charlie was busy granting the hopes and dreams of few but relieving most of their precious cash. Again and again as the night began the fade and the sun's rays began to beat on the other side of the San Franciscan hill tops, Charlie thought. "Everyone here is so happy. Winners and losers alike. How could this be so wrong?"


	8. Electrifying Passion

Chapter Eight (Electrifying Passion)

The Tuesday after Charlie's spectacular track opening found him lounging in the sunshine on a hammock in the neighbor's yard. His mind was hazy and he drowsed, not really asleep, but not quite awake either. The weekend had wore the indolent shepherd to his bones and he had done nothing Monday after handing Rupert his promised $75 as well as $10 more to find a freezer in which to store the last of the uneaten meat stock than lie about the house, trading sleeping places between David's bed, the couch and his favorite warm spot next to the dryer. Tuesday was already geared up to be much the same and despite coming face to face with the evil his debauched actions was attracting, he just wanted to put it all out of his mind.

One thing that Charlie couldn't put out of his mind, and didn't really want to, was the knowledge of his success Sunday night. In his most secret of hiding places, inside a loose rock of the basement wall under the stairs, Charlie had stashed his earnings, a princely wad of beautiful green bills the size of his head that was definitely worth more than a grand. The black and tan dog shook his tail thunderously just at the thought of it. More than the fact that he had almost doubled the amount of money he had put in, despite start-up costs, on the first night, there was the sensation that he had _won_. He'd taken a spin with his mistress of chance, rode the surf and wound up on top; there was no better feeling in the world.

Still… Charlie was not able to enjoy his success as he had envisioned he would have just a week ago. He had wanted to bring Sasha to the track, show her all the money it was going to bring them, all of the dogs who were crawling over each other just to join in the newest distraction in the city. They would have been living it up, going to parties every night, him with her by his side, meeting dogs who really mattered. And yet, here he was, lying in a hammock and still keeping his establishment a secret from her. He didn't want to believe that what he was doing was bad, and if it was… he wouldn't know what to do with himself. So he had sent Rupert home not really caring if he would steal the leftover ice chest of meat, and told him to come back that weekend. There were still three and a half days before he would have to decide on anything… and he just wanted to relax…

A short while later, the loose wooden board which was the canine equivalent of an unlocked door wiggled to the side and a lithe, red furred beauty crawled through the enlarged opening they had dug under the fence to sidle up under Charlie's hammock. Her scent enthralled him, banishing the worries hanging over him like a strong breeze might clear a foul miasma, while at the same time left him excited and even more relaxed all at the same time.

"Hey, doll." Greeted Charlie while he stretched on the hammock and breathed deeply.

"Hi, Charlie." Said Sasha, her voice belonged on an angelic choir (not that that was much of a compliment, they took _anyone_. They had to, just to be nice). She nosed Charlie's flank through the fabric of the hammock, "You going to just lie there all day? Let's go do something; it's been so long since we went somewhere together."

Charlie noticed the tenseness of her shoulders, the way her back arched and he grinned down at her, "Someone's chipper today…" A slight doubt nudged at Charlie's mind, the sense that he was missing some small but vital detail, but it slipped before he could even start thinking about it. "Want to go to the pier?" Offered the big shepherd.

Sasha cocked her head as she mulled it over, but the slight frown already told Charlie she wasn't into the idea, "I was thinking some place closer to home. And I'm hungry too. Let's walk to Chinatown and see if we can find some take out… just like we used to."

Sasha needn't have tried so hard, she could have cut through Charlie's heart with a butter knife so warm was it with renewed feelings of passion and past romance. He got shakily to his feet inside the hammock and attempted to dismount with a single bound, but his lost his footing at the last second, being around her always made Charlie clumsy for some reason, spun half way around and landed right on his back. "Ah!" he exclaimed, panting afterwards from having the breath knocked from him, but then they both burst out laughing. "Sasha… I'll go anywhere… you like… you take my breath away…"

With the $20 note Charlie secreted away on his person before the couple exited the yard space through yet another excavated hole, he and Sasha enjoyed a rich and sensational dinner sneaked directly out of the kitchen rather than by rooting around in the garbage.

Already through a container of noodles, Sasha reached out greedily for the white paper box containing the mushu pork. "Charlie, this is delicious!" She said, not longer bothering with the chop sticks, which were clumsy in a dog's paw at the best of times, but lapping the chucks out of the box with her tongue and delicately carved canines.

Charlie ate, although with somewhat less enthusiasm, and fewer table manners, from a box of orange chicken. His snout was already smeared with orange goo and dyed with black patches from the strong soy sauce that had laced the almost instantly devoured pork fried rice. "I only want the best for you Sasha." He managed before plunging his snout back into the take out as the two lovers slurped and gobbled together in a tiny, pungent alley behind a Chinese restaurant.

She ate voraciously, Charlie noticed. _Heh, I bet she's getting tired of the kibble. She hardly picked at it this morning. But jeez, I don't know if I can afford to keep this up regularly…_ thought Charlie as he sacrificed the last of the eggrolls by nosing it towards Sasha. As she ate, he moved behind and reared back on his heels to rub her back. She growled softly in pleasure even as she crunched the last of their heavy meal. _Her shoulders are so smooth, her fur like silk… How'd a mutt like me ever end up with a gal like this?_ Thought Charlie as he hugged her close. She turned her head and licked up the left side of his snout; Charlie felt like he was melting.

The two of them did end up going to the pier… or at least _a _pier. On the north coast of San Francisco, Charlie and Sasha sat below the wooden planks. The water washed gently back and forth, caught between rising and falling tides and across the eastern sky soared the Golden Gate Bridge, scarcely 500 yards away. It's bright orange frame and the way the dimming light reflected off it as the sun was setting never ceased to cheer Charlie up.

Together they lay in the sand, Sasha's head on Charlie's thigh and his forepaws draped casually over her lower back. They took in ocean breeze, the bay and the distant shore across from them and to the west.

Charlie didn't know how long they laid there together and it didn't matter. But finally, it was Sasha who broke the silence. After a few moments' fidgeting, she said, "It's so nice out… I love the ocean, so calm… so quiet."

Charlie didn't feel the need to mention that with his pricked ears, the din of the city was a constant hum in the background. Instead he said, "If you like the Pacific, you should have seen the Gulf of Mexico. The water was crystal blue… at least in the winter when the Mississippi wasn't spilling the silt."

Sasha was quiet for a moment as if taking in the moment, then she spoke, "Can you tell me about Heaven, Charlie?"

That made Charlie uncomfortable. Annabel had been very clear on her stance concerning Charlie walking around and telling everyone that he had risen from the dead. _"There would be dire consequences for everyone involved"_ she had said, _"Just be thankful you are not to be reincarnated with no memories of your prior life… We can still make that happen if you don't want to cooperate…"_ She had added when Charlie voiced his recalcitrance at the restriction; Charlie had immediately swallowed any further complaints at that last remark. And so far, everything had been swell. He kept his past to himself in public, but with Sasha, he told her stories of the late 30's and of New Orleans, tenetively at first, but when no divine retribution befell him, he had begun speaking more openly about his prior life. What she was asking now, however, was very clearly crossing the line. _Well… maybe a couple details couldn't hurt. She already knows a couple of things, just from when we met. How could it hurt?_ Charlie thought.

"Well…" he started, thinking about how to phrase what he would say next, "Let me tell you first of all; it's not all it's cracked up to be.

"There's clouds, the air's nice… it's cool, but not cold, there's music usually, but not if you don't want to listen, food and water if you want it, but you don't really need it… But then… that's kinda what's wrong with it too," Charlie scratched an ear as he struggled to put into words his strange dissatisfaction with Heaven, "there's nothing missing if you want it there and there's nothing that can't be gone if you don't want it around; just by thinking about it! It's dead, _dead_ boring." Charlie sighed and let his ears drop to either side of his head; it was still a long way off, but he still wasn't looking forward to returning and knowing that his second vist was likely to be permanent. "And that's not the worst part," Charlie straitened his spine a little in conviction, "Being there… like when you've been there a long, long, _long_ time changes you. You… you… oh there's a big word for it… you become… _complacent_. Like you lose your drive to do things, at least new things. Why I remember this one dog, Todd his name was, he'd just sit and stare all day at the clouds. Only time I ever saw him doing anything, he would polish that halo over and over and ov-ah!"

A small but very painful static discharge, like a miniature bolt of lightning struck Charlie's hindquarters and a high pitched ringing filled his ears. The sound more than anything hurt Charlie. The sound of the city, the ocean and even Sasha's voice as she cried out to him when he started rolling around on the sand clutching his large ears was blotted out in the horrid screeching. Just as quickly as it came, however, the noise stopped and Charlie heard Annabel's noxiously sweet voice speaking to him, however, he was not sure if she was actually there or if it was some kind of "prerecorded message."

"_You are free to speak your opinion of Heaven, Charles, but you must not reveal any knowledge of persons or events gained by your experiences here, however slight. Beware, this is your first and only warning…"_

Charlie winced the water out of his eyes while he sought to catch his breath and he rubbed the spot on his haunch where the lightning bolt had struck him; it wasn't worse than a bee sting, but it still stung.

"Charlie!? Charlie, can't you hear me? What's wrong with you?" asked Sasha urgently as she stood over Charlie.

"Ugh… Just another arbitrary law cooked up by those schemers upstairs." Charlie shook to clear his thoughts. "Really the management there is the worst of bureaucrats and sheriffs rolled into one."

"But… what?" Sasha stammered, "I just got all tingly all over when you jumped and when you started rolling around, I smelled ozone. What's going on? Does this have something to do with your mission?"

Charlie gulped down the guilt that rose up the back of his throat. Still, he wouldn't lie to her, "No Sasha, it's… They don't want me talking about Heaven is all. That was just a friendly reminder…" He finished the last with a low growl.

Again, that look on her face, true and undiluted concern, she might as well have put hot plates to all four of Charlie's paws. "Charlie there is something weird going on. I… I didn't really believe when you said you could see ghosts… not completely anyways. But something happened just now, I know it, I felt it. Charlie," She stepped forward, nose to nose with the taller shepherd dog, "You can't just keep me in the dark anymore. What _exactly_ is going on?"

Charlie couldn't help but retreat a few steps, tail slipping uncharacteristically between his hind legs. "I… uh…" He couldn't bring himself to lie to her. A feat that was normally easier than walking with his eyes closed with other people became a sheer impossibility with his life partner. Someone might as well have asked him to walk on water, his brain wouldn't form a story, his teeth clenched tightly together, his tongue glued itself to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. "Gluh… urhm… geh…" Charlie's eyes darted left and right, as always looking for escape when caught in situations like these.

"Well?" asked Sasha, "Are you going to tell me what's been up with you this last week?" Sasha raised her eyebrows, concern fading to be replaced by suspicion. One did not get that close to Charlie Barkin and not learn how he acted when caught in a corner.

"Well… you see… It's like…" Charlie stammered, tongue loosening, but the shame was still much too great. How could he tell her that he had misled her just to go out gambling all the past few days?

Sasha tapped her front paw with vigor against the sand.

Charlie's ears dropped and his sleek and powerful shoulders sagged. His nose pointed towards the earth and he shook his head.

"What? So you're not going to tell me?"

Charlie looked forlornly up at Sasha, but silence had to be better than revealing that he had betrayed her trust.

Sasha frowned and her ears lay flat against the back of her skull. She growled as she spoke, "What? Do you think I'm not smart enough to understand? Huh, buster? Do you think I'd be better off not knowing what my partner is doing running off until the crack of dawn every night? Do you know what I've been going through? Sitting by that goddamn dog door, praying you hadn't been attacked by strays or hit by a car?" Her demeanor changed like a switch had been flipped and her eyes burst forth with tears, "How could you do this to me? Do you think it's easy sitting in that house all day by myself? I don't care what you're doing at night, it has to be better than being by myself with no one to talk to." Her chest heaved, "I'm still learning how to be a good pet too. I miss the streets too. How could you think I'd be better off all by myself?"

Charlie stood mouth agape as the words poured out of her like a torrential waterfall. Her red furred cheeks were stained dark brown by the stream of tears. Charlie barley shifted his body to take a step forward when Sasha shouted, "No! Just stay away from me! I don't want to look at you right now!" With that, the red coated beauty streaked off around the heavy wooden poles holding up the pier. Charlie sat down and looked at his paws for a long time afterwards with nothing to keep him company besides crabs and seaweed.


End file.
